nal 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS 


L£&2^e. 


"Tell  me  what  you  see." 

—  Page  76.        Frontispiece 


The 
TWO  ORPHANS 

By    ADOLPHE   -JITENNERY 

WITH    SCENES    FROM    THE    PLAT 


R.      F.      FENNO      &      COMPANY 

9    AND   ii    EAST   SIXTEENTH    STREET,   NEW  YORK 

1904 


A  ROMANTIC  PLAY,  IN   FOUR  ACTS 
BY 

ADOLPHE    D'ENNERY   fef   EUGENE    CORMON 


The  Original  Union  Square  Theatre  Version  was  made  by  Hart  Jackson,  Esq., 

for  A.  M.  Palmer,  and  is  played  by  arrangement  with 

Kate  Claxton,  its  present  owner 


UNDER  THE  DIRECTION  OF  A.  M.  PALMER 


Cast  of  Characters 

CHEVALIER  MAURICE  D«VAUDREY KYRLE  BELLEW 

COUNT  DE  LIN1ERES,  Minister  of  Police FREDERICK.  PERRY 

PICARD,  Valet  to  the  Chevalier , E.  M.  HOLLAND 

JACQUES  FROCHARD,  an  outlaw CHARLES  WARNER 

PIERRE  FROCHARD,  the  cripple,  his  brother JAMES  O'NEILL 

MARQUIS  DE  PRESLES JAMESON  LEE  FINNEY 

DOCTOR  OF  THE  HOSPITAL  La  Salpetriere FRANK  ROBERTS 

M.  DE  MAILLY STANLEY  JESSOP 

M.  D'ESTREES  (with  song) STANLEY   HAWKINS 

MARTIN,  Citizen  of  Paris R.  PATON  GIBBS 

ANTOINE GEO.  S.  STEVENS 

LAFLEUR,  in  the  service  of  the  Marquis  De  Preiles FRANK  CONNOR 

OFFICER  OF  THE  GUARD BASIL  WEST 

CHIEF  CLERK  MINISTRY  OF  POLICE HENRY  J.  HADFIELD 

FOOTMAN  TO  THE  COUNTESS  DE  LINIERES ALFRED  JAMES 

LOUISE f  „,      ~        n    .         \ GRACE  GEORGE 

HENRIETTE 1    The  Tw°  OrPhans  ) MARGARET  ILLINGTON 

COUNTESS  DE  LINIERES ANNIE   IRISH 

LA  FROCHARD,  Mother  of  Pierre  and  Jacques. ..ELITA  PROCTOR  OTIS 

MARIANNE,  an  outcast CLARA  BLANDICK 

SISTER  GENEVIEVE,  Matron  of  La  Salpetriere CLARA  MORRIS 

JULIE MONA   HARRISON 

FLORETTE MIGNON   BER ANGER 

CORA CORINNE  PARKER 

SISTER  THERESE LUCY   MILLIKEN 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

FROM   NORMANDY   TO  PARIS. 

THE  dusty  diligence  which  rolled  over  the  hard  road 
from  Evreux  to  Paris,  on  a  certain  warm  summer's  day. 
in  the  year  18 — ,  contained  but  two  passengers,  and  they, 
young  girls. 

As  they  sat  on  the  hard  leathern  seats,  weary  from 
the  effects  of  the  long  ride,  which  would  cause  more 
mature  persons  to  look  jaded,  one  can  see  that,  so 
engrossed  are  they  with  the  thoughts  of  their  arrival  in 
Paris,  they  have  forgotten  the  discomforts  of  their 
reception. 

"  Are  you  quite  certain  that  the  kind  Monsieur  Mar- 
tin will  meet  us,  sister  ?  "  asked  the  younger,  for  at  least 
the  twentieth  time  since  the  commencement  of  the  ride. 

"  He  must  be  waiting  our  arrival,  Louise ;  for  did  I 
not  write  to  say  that  we  were  coming  ?  "  replied  Henri- 
ette,  as  she  smoothed  her  sister's  fair  hair  with  a  caress- 
ing motion  which  was  unusually  tender  even  for  a  sister, 
and  as  one  looks  into  the  young  girl's  face,  they  see  the 
reason  of  the  watchful  care  which  she  exercises  over 
her  sister. 

Louise  is  blind. 

"  But  if  he  should  not  be  there  ?"  persisted  the  blind 
girl. 

"  Then  we  will  go  to  his  house ;  I  h»TC  th«  addreag. 


4  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

We  will  not  think  of  hia  not  being  there,  but  rather 
enjoy  the  ride.  I  will  describe  to  you  everything  we 
meet." 

For  answer,  Louise  nestled  close  beside  her  sister ;  and 
laid  her  head,  with  its  wealth  of  golden  hair,  on  her 
shoulder. 

While  Henriette  was  thus  engaged,  let  us  explain  why 
the  two  girls  were  thus  journeying  alone  to  the  great 
city. 

Nearly  six  months  previous  to  the  opening  of  our 
story,  the  two  girls  were  bereft  of  their  only  protector 
by  the  cold  hand  of  death  ;  and  had  been  offered  a  home 
in  Paris  by  M.  Martin,  who  was  a  cousin  of  the  deceased 
mother. 

For  several  months  the  girls  remained  with  their  kind 
friends  in  Normandy,  lingering  near  their  childhood's 
home,  as  if  intuition  had  warned  them  of  the  long  train 
of  evils  which  would  attend  them  at  the  capital. 

They  had  started  for  Paris,  thinking  that  no  other 
warning  to  their  relative,  save  a  letter  that  was  dispatch, 
ed  the  day  previous  to  their  departure,  was  necessary. 

So  much  for  the  reason  of  their  journey,  and  before 
they  arrive  in  Paris,  we  will  visit  the  hotel  occupied  by 
the  Marquis  de  Presles,  whose  vile  scheming  caused  so 
much  misery  to  our  heroines. 

The  marquis  was  the  representative  of  one  of  the 
oldest  families  in  Paris ;  but,  unlike  his  ancestors,  he 
was  notorious  as  a  libertine  and  a  rouS. 

Every  pleasure  that  wealth  or  sin  could  purchase  was 
his,  and  in  that  city  of  crime  and  pleasure,  none  so  ready 
as  he  to  adopt  any  scheme,  however  vile,  to  attain  some 
new  pleasure  which  should  gratify  his  depraved  taste. 

Seated  before  a  breakfast-table,  loaded  with  every 
delicacy  which  could  tempt  an  appetite  already  blunted 
0y  dissipation,  the  marquis  was  partaking  sparingly  of 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  5 

his  morning  meal,  when  his  valet  entered  and  waited 
permission  to  speak. 

"  What  is  it,  Antoine  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  Lafleur  has  some  important " 

"  Admit  him,"  ordered  the  marquis,  who  saw  in  thil 
early  visit  some  new  scheme ;  for  Lafleur  was  one  who, 
for  the  sake  of  a  liberal  reward,  which  the  marquis  waa 
ever  ready  to  give  his  tools,  pandered  to  the  nobleman's 
vices.  Lafleur  entered  with  a  cringing  bow,  and 
remained  standing  in  a  respectful  attitude  until  his  pa- 
tron  should  allow  him  to  unfold  his  budget  of  villainy. 

"  Three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  is  not  an  early  hour 
for  Lafleur,  monsieur,"  replied  that  worthy,  as  he  availed 
himself  of  the  marquis's  permission  to  be  seated. 

"  People  who  have  such  vile  taste  as  to  retire  at  night, 
must  expect  to  be  out  of  their  beds  at  any  unreasonable 
hour ;  but  tell  me  what  brings  you  here  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  has  heard  of  the  beauty  of  the  girls  of 
Normandy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  what  of  that  ?  "  asks  De  Presles,  listlessly. 

"  There  are  two  young  girls  from  Normandy  who  are 
to  arrive  in  Paris  this  evening.  They  are  without 
relatives,  except  you  call  the  cousin  of  their  mother, 
who,  by  the  way,  is  my  brother-in-law,  a  relative," 
answered  Lafleur,  as  he  watched  the  face  of  his  employer 
carefully ;  and  as  he  saw  it  light  up  at  his  information, 
he  added  : 

"  My  brother-in-law  is  in  Lyons,  and  I  have  opened 
the  letter  sent  by  the  two  orphans,  advising  him  of  their 
intended  arrival  to-night.  Therefore,  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  meet  them." 

"  And  you  propose  what  ?  " 

"  Anything  Monsieur  the  Marquis  is  pleased  to  wish." 

"  How  old  are  these  girls  ?  " 

*  The  oldest  is  seventeen,  and  the  blind  one        n 


I  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

"Is  one  of  them  blind?" 

"She  is." 

"  Ah,  then,  I  do  not  see  how  she  could  interest  me.n 

"  But  the  other  might,  monsieur." 

"  You  are  right  I "  exclaimed  the  marquis,  after  a 
ihort  pauae ;  "  but  what  should  we  do  with  the  blind 
one?  " 

"Neve?  fear  for  her.  She  can  go  wherever  she 
chooses,"  said  Lafleur,  in  a  careless  tone.  "  Blindness  is 
a  good  stock  of  trade  in  this  city.  Before  I  knew  the 
liberality  of  the  Marquis  de  Presles,  I  was  often  tempted 
lo  wish  that  I  was  blind  myself;  for  it  is  said  that  the 
good  God  has  such  under  his  especial  keeping." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Lafleur,  that  if  you  were  deaf  and  dumb 
as  well  as  blind,  the  Lord  would  show  you  very  little 
favor,"  said  the  marquis,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  have  you  any  commands  for  me  ?  " 
rejoined  Lafleur,  quickly. 

"  Yes.  If  you  bring  me  the  girl — without  the  blind 
one,  remember — I  will  pay  you  one  hundred  louis  If 
you  fail,  I  will  not " 

"  We  do  not  think  of  failure,  my  dear  Marquis," 
quickly  interrupted  Lafleur.  "  Where  shall  I  take  the 
girl?" 

"I  am  to  have  a  party  of  friends  at  Bel- Air  this 
evening,  and  you  may  take  her  there.  Be  sure  you  take 
her  in  such  a  condition  that  she  can  make  no  disturb- 
ance." 

"  I  will  use  the  old  remedy,  and  then  you  can  awake 
her  whenever  you  wish,  as  you  have  the  antidote," 
replied  Lafleur,  as  he  arose  to  go. 

"  You  feel  sure  that  you  will  succeed  ?  "  asked  the 
marquis,  who  had  grown  considerably  interested  in  the 
•cheme. 

"JFeel  sure?     I  am  as  certain  as  if  the  Marquis  dt 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  7 

Presles*  louis  were  already  jingling  in  my  pocket," 
answered  Lafleur,  in  a  confident  tone. 

"Very  well,  I  shall  expect  you  this  evening." 

"  I  shall  be  there,  my  lord." 

And  with  a  low  bow,  the  villain,  who  was  ready  to 
sell  more  than  his  soul  for  gold,  departed,  leaving  hia 
patron  to  gloat  over  the  surprise  he  had  in  store  for  his 
friends ;  and  to  their  shame  be  it  said,  a  greater  portion 
of  these  friends  were  so-called  ladies,  and  in  attendance 
upon  royalty  itself. 

"Lest  our  readers  should  think  this  an  exceptional 
case  in  the  city  of  Paris  at  the  time  of  which  we  write, 
we  will  refer  them  to  the  history  of  France  for  the  latter 
part  of  the  seventeenth  and  the  beginning  of  the  eight- 
eenth centuries,  and  they  will  find  that  abduction,  murder, 
and  all  manner  of  crime  stalked  abroad  through  the 
beautiful  city,  setting  the  law,  and  those  whose  duty  it 
was  to  enforce  the  law,  at  defiance. 

CHAPTER  II. 

MOTHER    AND  SONS. 

"  KNIVES  to  mend,  scissors  to  grind,  knives  to  grind  1" 
Among  the  large  class  of  people  who  get  their  living 
from  the  street,  as  it  were,  none  seemed  to  have  as  few 
customers  as  the  scissors- grinders,  although  they  are  the 
most  useful  of  their  class ,  and  it  is  not  strange  that  on 
the  day  when  the  Normandy  coach  was  to  bring  a  new 
victim  to  the  Marquis  de  Presles,  Pierre  Frochard,  the 
crippled  scissors-grinder,  should  have  traversed  a  large 
portion  of  the  city  without  having  an  opportunity  of 
adding  much  to  his  little  hoard. 

His  plaintive  cry,  "  Knives  to  mend,  scissors  to  grind," 
was  unlike  a  great  majority  of  the  street  cries,  inasmuch 


8  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

as  it  seemed  to  be  the  cry  of  a  wounded  soul  striving 
for  something  beyond  its  reach,  instead  of  the  rough, 
unmeaning  jargon  which  venders  give  utterance  to  in  a 
sing-song  manner,  and  which  expresses  nothing  save  a 
confusion  of  guttural  sounds. 

Pierre  Frochard  was  a  young  man  of  about  twenty 
years  of  age,  but  his  sufferings  caused  him  to  have  the 
appearance  of  one  many  years  older.  His  face  was  pale 
and  distorted,  his  form  bent  and  misshapen,  and  yet  he 
was  one  whom  the  careful  observer  would  have  become 
deeply  interested  in,  and  the  charitably  disposed  to  have 
bestowed  alms  upon,  had  Pierre  not  been  one  of  those  few 
whom  alms  hurt  worse  than  a  curse. 

"Weary  and  footsore,  the  poor  scissors-grinder  had, 
toward  the  close  of  the  day,  found  himself  near  the 
Pont  Neuf ;  and  after  ascertaining  that  there  were  none 
near  who  were  in  need  of  his  services,  he  placed  his 
machine  near  one  of  the  buildings,  and  was  resting  his 
aching  limbs. 

Chance  had  brought  him  near  the  Normandy  coach- 
house, and  he  resolved  to  await  the  coming  of  the  dili- 
gence, in  the  hope  of  earning  a  few  sous  by  carrying  the 
baggage  of  some  traveler. 

There  was  also  in  the  vicinity  a  drinking  saloon, 
filled  with  noisy  revelers,  and  whenever  a  fresh  burst  of 
mirth  from  within  was  heard,  Pierre  shuddered  visibly, 

The  cripple  leaned  against  his  machine,  as  though 
long  association  with  the  wood  and  iron  had  endowed 
it  with  sympathy  for  his  sufferings.  The  poor  creature, 
although  he  had  a  mother  and  brother,  had  never 
known  what  it  was  to  receive  one  word  of  pity  or  con- 
solation from  a  human  being ;  and  what  wonder  he  should 
cling  affectionately  to  the  rude  machine  that  accompan- 
ied him  everywhere,  even  if  it  was  the  work  of  his  owa 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  9 

hands,  and  endowed  with  action  only  when  hia  poor, 
withered  foot  pressed  the  treadle  ? 

For  some  time  he  remained  in  this  position,  when  he 
was  aroused  from  his  reverie  by  the  closing  of  the  door 
of  the  cabaret,  and  looking  up,  he  saw  a  stout  middle- 
aged  woman  approaching  him.  j 

She  was  in  manner  and  appearance  an  exact  opposite 
to  the  cripple.  Her  clothes  were  whole,  and  enveloped 
the  stout  form  in  a  manner  indicative  of  great  comfort 
to  the  wearer.  A  pair  of  small,  hard,  gray  eyes  twink- 
led from  the  fat,  round  face,  which  was  bordered  with 
dhort,  black  hair,  that  formed  a  distinct  beard;  and  one, 
on  seeing  La  Frochard  for  the  first  time,  would  have 
judged  her  to  be  an  easy,  happy  old  soul,  whose  only 
care  in  life  was  to  provide  a  good  dinner,  and  whose  only 
want  was  the  material  for  a  good  dish  of  gossip. 

A  change  came  over  Pierre's  face  as  he  saw  her.  A 
change  which  plainly  told  that  his  poor,  bent  form  was  to 
receive  some  insult  which  would  cut  deeply  the  great, 
honest  heart  which  it  held. 

In  a  painfully  limping  manner  he  approached  the 
woman,  and  in  a  tender,  imploring  voice  said : 

"  "Why,  mother,  is  that  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  it's  me,  you  lazy  good-for-nothing  I  "replied  the 
affectionate  mother,  as  she  gazed  at  her  deformed  boy, 
while  a  look  of  scorn  passed  over  her  face,  completely 
changing  her  into  a  hard,  grasping  old  woman. 

A  look  of  sorrow  came  over  the  poor  cripple's  face  aa 
he  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to  ward  off  the  cruel  words. 

"  Lazy  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Why,  mother,  I  do  all  the 
work  I  can." 

"  Work  I "  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  as  she  smiled 
incredulously.  "You  call  that  work?  Bah!  why  did 
heaven  bless  you  with  such  a  beautiful  deformity? 
Why,  to  earn  your  living,  you  puny,  limping  cripple— 


10  THBlTWO  ORPHANS. 

and  you  work,  when  all  you  need  to  do  is  to  sit  here, 
hold  out  your  hand,  and  make  your  fortune." 

And  as  La  Frochard  finished  speaking  she  turned  away 
with  a  gesture  expressive  of  disgust  at  the  honest  living 
her  son  was  trying  to  earn. 

A  tear  came  into  Pierre's  eye  as  his  mother  finished 
•peaking,  and  he  answered,  sadly  : 

"  Mother,  I  can  not  beg  ;  it  is  impossible." 

"  Eh  ?  Not  possible — why  not  ?  "  queried  Mother 
Frochard,  in  a  sharp  rasping  voice. 

"  Mother,"  said  Pierre,  going  toward  her  and  laying  a 
thin,  wasted  hand  upon  her  arm,  "  when  I  was  an  infant 
you  carried  me  through  the  streets  and  taught  me  to 
repeat  begging  prayers  I  did  not  understand.  They  put 
money  into  your  pocket,  and  I  knew  no  shame.  But  now 
it  is  different.  You  drove  me  out,  and  bade  me  come 
here  to  beg.  When  I  knelt  and  held  out  my  hand  to 
ask  alms  in  the  name  of  the  misfortune  with  which 
Heaven  has  chastened  me,  shame  choked  my  utterance, 
and  I  was  overcome  by  anger  at  my  own  humiliation. 
A  passer-by  looked  on  me  with  pity  and  put  a  trifling 
coin  in  my  hand.  A  great  lump  came  in  my  throat  and 
my  eyes  filled  with  tears.  No,  mother,  I  can  not  beg — I 
can  not  I " 

And  as  Pierre  finished  speaking,  he  returned  to  his 
machine,  and  leaning  over  it,  seemed  to  pour  out  hia 
grief  to  the  rude  structure. 

"  You  undutiful  son  I  "  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  in  a 
burst  of  anger.  "You  had  rather  leave  your  poor 
brother  and  me  to  starve." 

This  unkind  thrust  aroused  Pierre,  and  he  answered, 
quickly : 

"  My  brother  need  not  starve.  He"  has  health  and 
strength,  and  yet  you  support  him  in  idleness." 

"  Why  should  my  beautiful  Jacques  work  ?  "  demand- 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  11 

ed  the  old  woman,  with  a  look  of  disdain  at  the  cripple. 
"  My  handsome  boy,  the  very  image  of  his  poor  dead 
father  that  those  scoundrels  of  the  law  robbed  me  of." 

"  He  suffered  death  for  a  murder  of  which  they  found 
him  guilty,"  timidly  suggested  Pierre. 

"And  can  I  look  to  you  to  avenge  him  ?  "  asked  the 
old  woman,  in  derision.  "  No — no  ;  my  handsome 
Jacques  wkl  do  that  one  of  these  days.  He's  no  milk- 
sop. Nothing  frightens  him." 

"  No,  not  even  the  sight  of  blood  1 "  answered  Pierre, 
with  a  shudder. 

"  Shut  up  1  You  are  good  for  nothing  but  to  be 
honest  I "  screamed  Mother  Frochard,  in  a  fury.  "  I  hate 
honest  people  I  scum  that  impose  on  the  poor " 

At  this  moment  the  old  woman's  tirade  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  appearance  of  several  people  who  were 
coming  toward  them,  and  changing  her  voice  suddenly 
from  one  of  the  deepest  anger  for  a  whining  tone  habit- 
ual to  professional  beggars,  she  went  toward  them  with 
outstretched  hands,  repeating  the  words  she  had  so 
vainly  endeavored  to  force  Pierre  to  repeat. 

"  Charity,  good  people.  Charity,  for  the  love  of 
Heaven  1 " 

The  poor  cripple  went  back  to  the  machine  with  a 
despondent  air,  and  poured  out  his  troubles  in  an  under- 
tone to  that  companion. 

"  Perhaps  she  is  right.  I  am  good  for  nothing  except 
to  be  honest.  Alas !  I  have  never  had  any  one  to  teach 
me." 

Pierre's  musings  were  destined  to  be  disturbed  on  this 
evening,  for  he  heard  a  loud,  rough  voice  behind  him, 
which  caused  him  to  start  with  fear. 

It  was  that  of  his  brother  Jacques. 

The  handsome  Jacques,  as  his  mother  had  called  him, 


12  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

and  if  a  good  specimen  of  a  ruffian  may  be  called  hand* 
some,  then  Jacques  was  a  perfect  beauty. 

He  was  a  tall,  strong,  well-formed  fellow  of  some 
twenty-four  years,  with  a  face  that  betokened  brutality 
in  every  feature. 

He  was  dressed  with  a  view  to  effect,  wearing  the 
flowered  waistcoat  so  much  in  vogue  at  that  period ;  a 
red  handkerchief  was  bound  around  his  head,  and  on  it 
was  a  wide-brimmed  hat,  blue  stockings  reaching  to  his 
knees,  and  in  his  ears  hung  large  gold  hoops,  which 
were  supposed  to  lend  an  air  of  distinction  to  the  whole 
costume.  In  his  mouth  was  a  black  clay  pipe,  and  his 
whole  bearing  was  that  of  a  man  who  is  well  satisfied 
with  himself,  and  who  expected  the  rest  of  the  world  to 
admire  him. 

"  Hallo  I  Here  is  the  old  woman  and  her  precious 
abortion  of  a  son,"  was  his  first  greeting,  as  he  laughed 
heartily  at  the  sight  of  poor  Pierre,  bending  over  his 
work.  "  Has  Marianne  come  yet,  mother  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  my  eon,"  replied  the  old  woman,  gazing  at 
him  in  admiration. 

"Never  mind,  she'll  come  in  time,"  he  said,  half  to 
himself  and  half  to  his  mother.  Then  as  he  heard  a 
noise  from  the  crowd  he  had  just  left  in  the  cabaret,  he 
cried  out :  "  You  can  order  everything  you  want,  wine^ 
brandy,  anything,  I'll  stand  it." 

Alarmed  at  this  outbreak  of  liberality  on  her  son's 
part,  Mother  Frochard  asked,  quickly : 

"  My  son,  are  you  going  to  pay  ?  Have  you  found  a 
purse  ?  " 

"  No,  but  Marianne  has.  I  have  ordered  her  to  bring 
me  some  money,  and  she'll  do  it." 

This  answer  appeared  to  please  the  old  woman,  for  she 
clasped  her  hands  as  if  in  ecstasy  of  joy  and  admira- 
tion, and  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice : 


THE  TWO  ORPHAN!.  IS 

"Isn't  he  in  good  humor  ?  " 

"  Come  here,  Pierre,"  ordered  Jacques,  in  a  stern 
Toice. 

The  cripple  looked  up,  and  for  an  instant  seemed  hesi- 
tating whether  to  obey  or  not ;  but  a  warning  look  from 
his  brother  decided  him,  and  he  went  slowly  toward  the 
man  who  knew  neither  pity  nor  love  for  his  afflicted 
brother. 

"Look  here,  cripple  I  Good  children  always  give  an 
account  of  their  earnings  to  their  parents,"  said  Jacques, 
in  a  sarcastic  tone.  Then  turning  to  the  old  woman,  he 
asked :  "  Isn't  that  so,  mother  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  lamb.  You  have  excellent  principles," 
and  again  the  old  woman  compared  one  son  with  the 
other,  as  she  had  done  hundreds  of  times  since  their 
birth. 

But  poor  Pierre  looked  up  piteously  at  his  brother, 
and  said : 

"  When  I  give  you  an  account  of  my  earnings  you 
pocket  all." 

"  Well,  what  if  I  do  ?  "  was  Jacques'  brutal  answer. 

44 It's  unjust,"  said  Pierre.     "  It's  so  like " 

"  That's  enough,"  interrupted  Jacques.  "  I  want  your 
money,  but  none  of  your  fine  speeches.  How  much 
have  you  got  ?  " 

And  he  made  a  gesture  as  though  to  strike  his  brother, 
should  his  demand  not  be  complied  with  quickly  enougn. 

Pierre  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  resist,  and  drawing 
out  a  handful  of  small  coin  he  proceeded  to  count  them. 

"  Twenty-two  livres,  seven  sous,  and  six  deniers,"  he 
answered,  as  soon  as  he  ascertained  the  amount. 

Jacques  took  the  money  from  Pierre's  hand  with  a 
motion  which  caused  the  cripple  to  wince  with  pain,  and 
as  he  put  them  in  his  capacious  pocket,  he  said,  with  tha 
tone  of  a  man  who  has  been  defrauded  out  of  his  dues: 


14  THE  TWO  OBPHAKS. 

"  And  all  this  fuss  about  that.  Why,  what  have  you 
been  doing  for  a  whole  week  with  those  spindle  legs 
and  arms  ?  " 

"  I  have  walked  the  streets  from  morning  until  night, 
with  my  wheel  upon  my  back,"  answered  Pierre,  as  if 
eager  to  convince  his  brother  that  he  had  not  been  idle. 
"  I  have  lived  upon  bread  and  water.  I  could  do  no 
more." 

"  Well,  your  trade  don't  pay,"  was  Jacques'  rough 
answer.  "  I  must  find  you  something  better." 

"Something  better?  You?  No— nol"  exclaimed 
Pierre,  as  he  moved  away,  trembling  in  every  limb  at 
the  thought  of  being  obliged  to  work  after  his  broth- 
er's fashion. 

Jacques  did  not  fancy  Pierre's  rejoinder,  and  would 
have  heaped  some  fresh  insult  upon  the  cripple,  had  not 
La  Frochard  came  forward,  anxious  to  show  her  favorit* 
how  well  she  had  done. 

"  I  have  saved  three  livres  and  eight  sous.  Put  them 
with  Pierre's,  and  that  makes " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  how  much  it  makes,"  said  Jacques, 
impatiently,  as  he  took  the  money  from  his  mother's 
unwilling  grasp ;  "  but  I'll  take  it  on  principle." 

Then  turning  to  his  brother,  he  said,  in  a  voice  which 
Was  intended  to  betray  his  good  feelings : 

"  Come,  cripple,  let's  drink,"  and  at  the  same  time  he 
moved  toward  the  cabaret. 

"  No,"  answered  Pierre,  sadly ;  "  drink  always  affects 
my  head." 

Jacques  gave  utterance  to  a  coarse  laugh,  as  he  said : 

"  Why,  who  would  think  that  we  are  brothers  ?  You 
have  the  blood  of  the  sheep  in  your  veins.  You're  a 
disgrace  to  the  family,  while  I  boast  the  blood  of  a 
Frochard,  and  the  Frochards  have  been  outlaws  for  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years," 


THB  TWO  OKPHANS.  15 

This  burst  of  boasting  was  again  too  much  for  Mother 
Frochard. 

She  was  obliged  to  give  vent  to  her  feelings  by  raising 
her  hands  to  Heaven,  and  exclaiming : 

"  Ah,  what  a  man !  I  love  him  so — so  like  his 
father." 

"  Come  along,  then,  if  you  love  me,"  said  Jacques, 
who  had  heard  his  mother's  fervent  exclamation,  "  for 
I  am  thirsty." 

As  they  opened  the  door  of  the  cabaret,  he  turned 
again  to  Pierre,  who  was  again  bending  over  his  wheel, 
and  asked  : 

"  Are  you  coming  with  us  ?  " 

"  No — no,"  answered  the  cripple,  and  as  he  heard  the 
sound  of  wheels,  he  added,  but  not  until  his  brother  and 
mother  had  disappeared  within  for  drink :  "  There's  the 
Normandy  coach  just  arriving.  I  will  run  and  see  if 
there's  not  a  chance  to  make  a  few  sous." 

And  Pierre  hastened  toward  the  coach  as  fast  as  his 
crippled  limbs  would  admit,  little  thinking  what  the 
diligence  would  bring  that  day,  and  how  closely  his  life 
would  be  connected  with  one  of  the  occupants,  at  least. 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE    OUTCAST. 

As  Pierre  said,  the  Normandy  coach  had  just  arrived; 
but  the  poor  cripple  saw  at  a  glance  that  his  chance  of 
earning  a  few  sous  was  hopeless. 

The  only  passengers  that  alighted  from  the  rickety 
old  coach  were  the  two  young  girls  whom  we  have  seen 
in  our  first  chapter. 

They  alighted  in  a  dazed  sort  of  manner,  as  if  the 
bustle  and  din  of  the  great  city  had  confused  them, 


16  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

and  Henriotte,  leading  Louise  by  the  band,  entered  ths 
open  space  in  front  of  the  coach-office. 

A  bench  (which,  from  the  numerous  marks  of  knives 
and  pencils  upon  it,  showed  that  it  served  as  a  resting 
place  for  the  loungers  who  always  cluster  round  places 
of  this  kind  and  talk  horsey  slang  while  admiring  the 
noble  brutes  that  form  the  establishment  of  the  proprie- 
tor) was  just  outside  the  office  door,  and  it  was  to  this 
Henriette  led  her  blind  sister. 

"  Sit  here,  Louise,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  sweet  voice. 
which  told  all  the  love  she  felt  for  the  afflicted  girl. 

Henriette  looked  vainly  round  for  the  relative  whom 
they  expected  to  meet ;  but  not  a  person  was  to  be  seen. 

She  could  not  repress  a  feeling  of  anxiety ;  but  she 
bravely  strove  to  hide  her  feelings  from  Louise. 

But  the  blind  girl  was  anxious  as  well  as  Henriette. 

"  I  am  surprised  that  Monsieur  Martin  is  not  here  to 
meet  us,"  she  said,  half  to  herself. 

Henriette's  quick  ear  caught  the  murmur,  and  she 
endeavored  to  divert  her  sister's  mind. 

"  Oh,  he'll  come  soon  I "  she  said,  reassuringly.  Then, 
to  occupy  the  blind  girl's  mind  with  other  matters  than 
their  own  condition,  she  added :  "  Oh,  Louise  I  Paris  is 
so  beautiful !  Oh,  my  poor  sister,  if  you  could  only  see 
its  wonders  I  " 

"Tell  me  what  you  see.  Where  are  we?"  asked 
Louise,  excitedly. 

"  In  an  open  square  at  the  end  of  a  beautiful  bridge," 
answered  Henriette,  looking  round  her,  "which  has  a 
magnificent  statue  in  the  middle." 

"That  must  be  the  Pont  Neuf,"  said  Louise,  as  she 
remembered  the  picture  Henriette  had  called  up  to  her 
Kiind.  "  Papa  used  to  speak  of  it." 

44  And  on  this  side  I  can  see  two  great  towers,"  ovtt 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  17 

tlnued  the  beautiful  girl,  who  was  thus  supplying  the 
place  of  her  sister's  sight.  "  It  must  be  Notre  Dame." 

"  Notre  Dame,"  repeated  Louise,  sadly,  as  she  arose 
from  her  seat.  "  How  I  wish  I  could  see  it.  It  was  on 
that  spot,  that  I,  a  helpless  infant,  was  left  to  perish," 
and  as  the  blind  girl  thus  recalled  the  thoughts  of  the 
past,  the  tears,  unbidden,  came  to  her  eyes,  and  the  sight- 
less  orbs  were  turned  toward  the  spot  she  would  see, 
as  if  they  would  burst  their  filmy  veil,  and  forced  by  her 
grief,  gaze  upon  the  spot  where  she  had  been  left  to  die 
of  cold  or  starvation.  "  It  was  there  your  dear  father 
found  me.  But  for  him  I  should  have  died — perhaps — 
perhaps  that  would  have  been  better,"  she  added,  in  a 
tone  of  anguish  that  was  almost  a  wail,  so  much  misery 
was  there  embodied  in  it. 

"  My  darling  sister!  "  exclaimed  Henriette,  "  why  do 
you  say  that  ?  " 

"Because,"  replied  Louise,  in  the  same  sad  tone,  "I 
should  not  have  lived  to  become  blind  and  unhappy." 

"Louise,  do  not  speak  thus!"  said  Henriette,  as  she 
clasped  her  sister  in  her  arms.  "  Our  dear  parents  loved 
us  both  alike — you  were  their  consolation  and  happi- 
ness, as  it  was  their  first  grief  when  Heaven  deprived 
you  of  your  sight." 

"Misfortune  pursues  me,  sister,"  said  Louise,  refusing 
to  be  comforted,  "  for  scarcely  had  this  affliction  befallen 
me  when  we  were  left  orphans,  without  help  or  friends." 

"  No — no,  dear  Louise  I  "  interrupted  Henriette,  "  not 
without  friends,  I  hope.  I  have  turned  all  we  possessed 
into  money,  and  we  are  in  this  great  Paris,  where  there 
are  skillful  doctors  who  will  soon  restore  my  poor 
Louise's  eyes  to  their  old  time  brightness,"  and  there 
was  in  Henriette's  voice  something  which  ever  had  the 
power  to  cheer  her  afflicted  sister. 

u  Heaven  errant  that  your  hopes  may  b«  realized,"  laid 


18  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

Louise,  more  hopefully.  Then  thinking  of  their  present 
situation  again,  she  asked  : 

"  But  where  can  Monsieur  Martin  be  ?  Why  does  he 
not  come  for  us  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Henriette  had  forgotten  the  forsaken 
condition  in  which  they  were.  Alone  in  Paris,  without 
friends,  or  even  acquaintances,  and  unless  the  relative 
whom  they  were  expecting  should  come  for  them,  what 
could  they  do  ? 

Henriette  hardly  dared  to  think  of  such  an  alternative, 
and  more  to  satisfy  her  sister  than  from  any  expectation 
of  finding  him,  she  proposed  to  go  and  look  for  M.  Mar- 
tin. 

As  Henriette  went  to  look  for  M.  Martin,  a  young 
woman  of  about  twenty  years  of  age  entered  the  open 
space  in  front  of  the  cabaret,  and  stood  gazing  sadly  at 
the  swift-running  river. 

Her  face  was  that  of  a  woman  who  had  once  been 
beautiful ;  but  who  was  now  pursued  by  remorse  and 
sorrow.  Her  garments  were  scrupulously  clean  and 
neat,  but  with  no  attempt  at  display,  and  she  wandered 
about  like  one  having  no  aim  or  purpose  save  to  escape 
from  her  own  thoughts. 

She  stood  silent  and  motionless,  as  if  she  were  some 
quaint  figure  of  wood  or  stone,  rather  than  a  woman  in 
whose  breast  love  and  hate  could  wage  eternal  conflict ; 
so  absorbed  was  she  in  her  bitter  thoughts,  that  her  face 
expressed  her  feelings  as  well  as  words  could  have  done. 

Henriette  returned  to  her  sister  with  the  information 
that  their  relative  could  not  be  seen,  and  just  at  that 
moment  a  burst  of  laughter  and  music  came  from  the 
half  open  door  of  the  cabaret,  which  prevented  the 
wanderer  from  hearing  Heuriette's  approach  or  her  voice. 

Among  the  voices  which  could  be  heard  from  the 
drinking  saloon,  Jacques  Frochard's  coarse,  brutal  tone* 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  19 

could  be  distinguished ;  and  as  she  heard  it,  the  poor 
woman  started  as  though  stung  by  a  viper. 

"  Yes,  it  is  his  voice,"  she  said,  as  she  turned  so  as  to 
face  the  doors  of  the  cabaret,  "  his  voice  singing  aud 
laughing.  Ay  I  drink  and  carouse!  forget  her  whose 
heart  you  have  broken.  Enjoy  yourself,  while  the 
victim  of  your  brutality  seeks  the  only  refuge  left  her 
— death  !  The  river  is  near,  one  plunge  and  it  will  all 
be  over.  May  my  dying  shriek  of  despair  ring  in  your 
ears  as  a  never-ending  curse !  " 

And  in  the  extremity  of  her  anguish,  the  wanderer 
rushed  toward  the  wall  and  the  sudden  death  she  sought. 
Goaded  by  despair,  the  unhappy  woman  was  about  to 
yield  up  her  life  to  her  Maker  in  all  its  sin,  forgetting 
that  as  it  was  too  vile  for  this  world,  what  would  be  its 
appearance  there  where  all  was  holy. 

As  she  was  about  to  commit  this  rash  act,  her  wild 
and  almost  maniacal  gaze  rested  on  several  persons  who 
were  passing  near,  and  she  drew  back,  shuddering. 

"  No,  it  is  not  yet  dark  enough,"  she  muttered,  "  I 
should  be  seen  and  perhaps  saved." 

As  she  said  this  she  clasped  her  hands  on  her  head, 
and  seemingly  bewildered  by  the  conflict  of  passions, 
sunk  down  upon  the  cold  damp  pavement. 

Henriette,  who  had  been  regarding  the  strange  appear- 
ing woman,  exclaimed  as  she  fell  : 

"  What  can  be  the  matter  with  that  woman  ?  She 
has  fallen  ;  she  must  be  ill  I  " 

"  Go  to  her  and  see  if  you  can  aid  her ;  go — go, 
sister !  "  exclaimed  Louise,  quickly,  and  in  her  excite- 
ment rising  from  the  seat  and  endeavoring  to  grope  her 
way  to  the  prostrate  woman. 

Like  some  angel  of  mercy  Henriette  went  to  the  world- 
weary  woman,  and  in  a  voice  that  resembled  a  silvery 


90  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

cliime  of  vesper  bells,  so  gratefully  did  they  fall  upon 
the  wanderer's  ears,  asked  : 

"Pardon  me,  madame ;  can  I  do  any  thing  for  you? " 

"  You  can  do  nothing." 

"  You  seem  exhausted  ;  are  you  suffering  ?  " 

"  Yes — yes,  I  am  suffering." 

As  she  said  this,  thus  inviting  the  pity,  as  it  were,  of 
the  good  angel  beside  her,  she  arose  from  the  ground ; 
and  Louise,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  short  conver- 
sation, eagerly  said  to  Henriette — and  there  was  a  world 
of  pathos  in  her  voice  : 

"  She  said  that  with  a  voice  full  of  misery  and  despair. 
Help  her,  sister." 

Henriette  needed  not  to  be  prompted  to  do  a  chari- 
table action;  but  her  sister's  words  caused  her  to  re- 
double her  efforts  to  assist  the  poor  woman. 

"  Madame,  have  confidence  in  us,"  she  said,  kindly. 
"  We  are  not  rich,  but  we  can  help  you " 

"  I  have  already  told  you,"  interrupted  the  woman, 
fiercely,  "that  I  want  nothing.  There  are  griefs  that 
can  not  be  consoled ;  sufferings  that  can  not  be  alleviated. 
I  only  wish  to — to " 

"You  wish  to  die  I  "  exclaimed  Louise,  as  she  clasped 
her  hands  in  an  agony  of  grief  at  the  thought  of  the 
other's  suffering. 

"Who  told  you  that?  "added  the  woman,  passion- 
ately. "  How  do  you  know  I  want  to  die  ?  " 

"  I  feel  it  while  I  listen  to  you,"  answered  the  blind 
girl,  who,  standing  with  her  hands  clasped,  resembled 
more  one  of  Eaphael's  Madonnas  than  a  simple  country 
girl.  "  Do  you  know  that  we  who  are  blind — whom  no 
external  object  distracts,  listen  with  our  whole  being  ?  " 

"  Tell  us  your  troubles,"  said  Henriette,  soothingly. 
"  Perhaps  we  can  relieve  them." 

The  woman  gazed  sadly  at  the  fair  girl  who  would 


THE  TWO  ORPHAN*.  21 

thus  take  another's  sorrows  upon  herself,  in  the  hope  of 
lightening  the  unhappy  one's  burden. 

"  Why  should  I  tell  you  when  you  do  not  even  know 
me  ? ''  she  said,  slowly,  and  at  the  same  time  as  if  she 
wished  to  pour  out  her  troubles.  "  You  have  nevei 
seen  me  before,  and  yet  you  pity  me.  No — no,  there 
is  no  help  for  me.  Leave  me,  leave  me,  and  do  not 
attempt  to  save  me  !  '* 

As  she  finished  speaking,  the  unhappy  woman  turned 
away  and  would  have  left  the  place,  but  that  she  heard 
Henriette's  voice. 

"  Stay  1  "  she  said,  in  a  pleading  tone.  "  For  the  love 
of  Heaven,  do  not  leave  me  thus  !  "  entreated  Louise. 

The  poor  woman  was  not  proof  against  these  plead- 
ings, and  yet  she  hesitated  to  open  her  heart,  wicked  as 
it  was,  to  these  pure  girls. 

"  I  am  pursued  by  the  officers  of  the  law,"  she  said, 
hurriedly.  "  I  have  not  strength  to  fly  further,  and 
they  will  arrest  me." 

"What  have  you  done?  "  asked  Henriette,  pityingly. 

"I  have  stolen  I"  answered  the  woman,  and  as  she 
saw  the  young  girls  shudder,  she  added,  quickly,  as  if 
in  extenuation :  "I  have  stolen  money  committed  to  my 
care ;  all  the  savings  of  a  poor  working  girl.  I  stole  it 
for  him,  for  a  wretch  whom  I  fear,  but  whom,  alas,  1 
love!" 

At  this  moment  Jacques'  voice  was  heard  from  the 
cabaret,  and  it  sounded  like  some  mocking  fiend  exult 
ing  over  its  triumphs. 

"  Good  joke — a  capital  joke !  " 

What  demon  could  have  put  into  his  mouth  thove 
words,  which  probably  would  have  expressed  exactly 
his  idea  of  the  repentance  of  the  girl  whom  he  had 
wronged  I 

44  Listen,"  said  the  woman,  quietly,  while  a  look  of 


22  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

pain  passed  over  her  face,  "  that  is  his  voice.  He  is 
there  wasting  in  debauchery  the  money  purchased  by 
my  crime.  When  I  am  away  from  him  my  reason 
returns,  and  I  only  feel  the  hate  his  baseness  inspires. 
Alas  I  when  he  speaks  to  me  my  hate  disappears ;  I 
cower  and  tremble  before  him  and  am  his  slave.  I  have 
stolen  for  him,  and  I  believe  I  would  kill  at  his  bid- 
ding!" 

She  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then,  hiding 
her  face  in  her  hands,  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears,  and 
exclaimed : 

"No — no!  it  is  better  that  I  should  die!" 

"You  can  not  atone  for  a  fault  by  committing  a 
crime,"  said  Henriette. 

"  If  I  am  found  they  will  arrest — imprison  me  I " 
exclaimed  the  woman,  clasping  her  hands. 

"And  repentance  will  pay  the  debt  you  owe  to 
Heaven,"  added  the  blind  girl's  low  voice,  like  a  song, 
sweet  and  veiled. 

"  Heaven  I  Do  you  believe  there  is  a  Heaven  ?  "  asked 
the  woman,  almost  roughly,  hiding  her  real  feelings 
behind  a  mask  of  brusquerie. 

The  two  girls  started  as  if  they  had  received  a  blow, 
and  their  faces  expressed  the  sorrow  they  felt  at  this 
implied  atheism. 

"  Do  I  believe  there  is  a  Heaven  ?  "  asked  Henriette, 
in  astonishment. 

"  I  can  not  believe  there  is  a  Heaven  for  outcasts  like 
me." 

"Oh,  unhappy  woman  !  "  exclaimed  Louise,  in  tones 
of  deepest  sorrow.  Then  drawing  some  money  from  her 
little  store,  she  handed  it  to  the  woman. 

But  although  she  could  receive  words  of  encourage- 
ment and  advice  from  the  orphans,  and  be  grateful,  she 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  28 

could  not  take  their  money,  and  she  drew  back  quickly, 
exclaiming,  petulantly : 

"No— no  I" 

"  Do  not  refuse,  I  implore  you  I  "  entreated  Louise,  as 
she  turned  toward  the  woman,  with  an  imploring  look 
upon  her  face. 

Thus  entreated,  the  woman  could  do  no  less  than 
comply  with  their  request ;  and  as  she  took  the  small 
amount  of  money,  which  was  more  valuable  than  price- 
less gems  because  of  the  sympathy  which  accompanied 
it,  she  said : 

"  Now  I  know  that  you  are  right.  There  must  be  a 
Heaven,  for  has  it  not  sent  two  angels  to  succor  and  to 
save  me  ?  " 

And  turning  aside,  the  unhappy  woman  wiped  the 
tears  away  which  this  kind  action  had  caused  to  flow. 

"  Courage,  have  courage,"  said  Henriette,  as  she  laid 
her  little  hand  caressingly  on  the  woman's  arm. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  will  have  courage.  I'll  fly  from  Paris 
and  from  him.  I  wish  I  could  give  my  life  for  you.'* 
she  said,  as  she  took  the  hands  of  the  two  orphans  and 
pressed  them  to  her  lips.  "  May  Heaven  bless  you — 
farewell,"  she  sobbed,  as  she  turned  to  go. 

But  she  had  not  seen  the  door  of  the  cabaret  open, 
nor  did  she  see  Jacques,  as  he  stood  just  outside  the  door. 

"  Ah — ah  I "  he  chuckled.  "  Madame  Marianne,  at 
last!" 

Then,  as  he  saw  the  woman  moving  quickly  away, 
he  cried  :  "  Marianne  I  " 

The  sound  of  that  voice  was  too  potent  for  that  poor 
woman. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  demanded  Jacques,  coarsely. 

"Away  from  you,  whom  I  hope  never  to  see  again  1 " 
answered  Marianne,  firmly. 


24  THE   TWO   ORPHANS. 

Jacques  went  toward  her  quickly,  and  laid  his  hand 
roughly  upon  her  trembling  arm. 

"  Bah  I  "  he  said,  savagely,  "  you  don't  want  to  see  me  ? 
Then  why  did  you  stop  when  I  called?  What  makes 
your  hand  tremble  ?  " 

"It  does  not  tremble,"  answered  Marianne,  trying  to 
appear  firm.  "  I  have  found  strength  to  resist  you.  1 
am  ashamed  of  the  life  I  lead,  and  of  the  infamy  into 
which  you  have  plunged  me." 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Jacques,  as  he  went  toward 
the  door  of  the  cabaret.  "  Put  all  of  that  stuff  out  of 
your  head,  and  follow  me  !  " 

"I  will  not!"  said  the  poor  woman,  as  she  turned 
again  to  go. 

"  You  must !  "  insisted  Jacques,  with  an  angry  ges- 
ture ;  and  then,  as  she  did  not  move,  he  added  :  "  Come 
—do  you  hear?  " 

For  a  moment  Marianne  was  on  the  point  of  obeying 
him ;  but  one  glance  at  the  two  young  girls,  who  were 
anxiously  awaiting  her  decision,  seemed  to  give  her 
strength,  and  she  answered,  boldly : 

"  Yes,  I  hear,  and  I  refuse.     I  will  not  obey  you  ! " 

"  You  want  me  to  persuade  you  in  the  usual  way,  eh  ! 
do  you?"  cried  Jacques,  brutally,  as  he  went  quickly 
toward  the  shrinking  woman. 

"You  shall  not — never  again  !  "  exclaimed  Marianne, 
as  she  endeavored  to  escape  from  his  cruel  grasp. 

But  she  was  too  late ;  Jacques  grasped  her  by  the  hair 
with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  clasped  her  slender 
throat,  and  in  a  moment  his  brawny  hands  would  have 
choked  her  senseless,  but  that  he  heard  the  heavy  tramp 
of  armed  men  approaching. 

In  an  instant  he  had  released  her ;  and  Marianne,  rush- 
ing up  to  the  guard,  exclaimed  : 

"  Monsieur,  arrest  me,  I  am  a  thief  1 " 


-o 

<L> 
O. 


THE  TWO  OBPHAlfl.  25 

Jacques  was  petrified  with  astonish ment,  while  the 
two  orphans  waited  with  beating  heart  the  denouemem 
of  this  strange  drama. 

"  Arrest  you  ?  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  officer,  in 
HO  little  surprise. 

"  My  name  is  Marianne  Vauthier.  Officera  are  in 
search  for  me.  I  escaped  from  them  an  hour  ago,"  said 
Marianne,  hurriedly,  as  if  she  feared  her  courage  would 
give  way.  "Now  I  wish  to  deliver  myself  to  justice!" 

"She  has  gone  crazy!"  ejaculated  Jacques,  as  he 
moved  to  a  convenient  distance,  in  order  to  make  his 
escape  should  she  denounce  him. 

"  Marianne  Vauthier,"  said  the  officer,  reading  from  a 
paper  which  he  had  taken  from  his  pocket,  "  accused  of 
theft " 

"Of  which  I  am  guilty,"  interrupted  the  woman. 

"  Well,  if  you  confess  it,  I  must  take  you  to  La  Sal- 
petriere,"  said  the  officer,  half  doubting  her  sanity,  as  he 
motioned  her  between  two  files  of  soldiers. 

"  My  expiation  begins,"  said  Marianne,  as  she  passed 
by  where  the  two  orphans  were  standing.  "  Pray  that 
Heaven  may  give  me  courage  to  complete  it." 

The  soldiers  moved  on,  bearing  the  self-convicted 
woman  with  them,  while  Henrietta  and  Louise  could 
only  pray  silently  that  her  expiation  might  be  the  means 
of  restoring  her  to  the  place  she  had  lost  through  her 
unhappy  love. 

Jacques  remained  looking  after  the  departing  prisoner 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  giving  vent  to  a  low  whistle, 
expressive  of  surprise,  regret,  and  perhaps  shame,  dis- 
appeared into  the  cabaret,  saying,  as  he  entered  : 

"  To  Salpetriere  I  She's  a  fool  I  " 

And  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  joining  his  comrades  in 
their  debauchery,  with  not  a  thought  of  the  unfortunafct 


26  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

girl  who,  for  his  sake,  had  committed  a  crime  for  which 
she  must  now  suffer  long,  weary  months,  perhaps  years. 
And  while  he  was  thus  occupying  his  time,  the  two 
orphans  awaited  the  coming  of  their  relative. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  ABDUCTION. 

FOR  a  few  moments  after  Marianne  had  been  carried 
away  by  the  guards,  the  two  orphans  stood  silent. 

They  had,  in  the  few  moments  that  had  elapsed  since 
their  arrival  in  Paris,  seen  more  misery  in  one  poor  girl's 
life  than  they  had  thought  could  exist,  from  evil  causes, 
in  the  whole  city. 

Having  been  born  and  reared  in  the  quiet  Norman 
town,  they  knew  none  of  that  misery  which  arises  from 
sin,  and  judging  others  by  their  own  pure  and  spotless 
lives,  were  shocked  beyond  measure  by  Marianne's  brief 
confession  of  guilt. 

For  a  moment  nothing  could  have  presented  so  touch- 
ing a  sight  as  the  two  young  girls,  standing  clasped  in 
each  other's  arms,  and  striving  to  comfort  each  other  in 
their  grief  at  Marianne's  sad  fate. 

Although,  as  the  poor  outcast  had  said,  they  had 
never  before  seen  her,  nevertheless,  from  out  their  pure, 
tender  hearts  went  a  great  flood  of  sympathy  and  sor- 
row for  the  poor  creature  who,  forsaken  in  her  hour  of 
trouble  by  the  man  for  whose  sake  she  had  set  upon  her- 
self the  brand  of  infamy,  had  now  commenced  her  life 
of  expiation. 

Louise  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  Her  quick 
ear  had  caught  the  sound  of  Pierre's  footsteps  as  he 
came  back  from  a  neighboring  street,  and  she  trembled 
involuntarily. 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  27 

"Henriette,  where  are  you?"  she  said,  iu  a  voice 
which  betrayed  her  emotion. 

"  You  are  frightened,  sister,"  answered  Henriette,  look- 
ing anxiously  at  the  blind  girl. 

"  Yes — yes,  I  am,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Louise,  as  she 
grasped  her  sister's  arms,  as  if  to  receive  some  assurance 
of  her  safety. 

"And  the  night  is  falling  fast,"  said  Henriette  to  her- 
self, beginning  to  feel  seriously  alarmed  on  account  of 
the  non-appearance  of  their  relative. 

During  this  time  Pierre  had  remained  by  his  wheel, 
busying  himself  in  performing  some  trifling  work,  and 
listening  intently  to  the  conversation,  that  he  might 
know  if  it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  render  them  some 
assistance. 

Those  to  whom  fate  has  been  unkind,  are  ever  more 
ready  to  assist  their  suffering  fellows  than  they  who  have 
received  all  the  gifts  a  kind  Providence  can  bestow  upon 
them. 

The  unprotected  condition  of  the  two  girls  had  to  the 
poor  cripple  something  touching  in  it,  and  he  longed  to 
assist  them ;  or  at  least  to  say  some  comforting  word. 

"Why  does  not  Monsieur  Martin  come  ?"  exclaimed 
Louise,  giving  herself  up  entirely  to  her  fears. 

As  she  spoke,  and  almost  in  response  to  her  question, 
a  man  advanced  toward  them,  coming,  apparently,  from 
out  of  the  shadow  of  the  buildings. 

We  have  no  need  to  describe  him,  for  the  reader  has 
met  him  before. 

It  was  Lafleur. 

"  Here  I  am,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  as  if  in  answer 
to  Louise's  agonized  question. 

Henriette  gave  utterance  to  a  cry  which  was  at  the 
same  time  expressive  of  relief  and  fear. 


28  THB  TWO   ORPHANS. 

She  disliked  even  the  appearance  of  the  man,  and 
instinctively  she  recoiled  from  his  approach. 

Louise's  "  At  last !  "  was  as  significant  as  her  sister'g 
exclamation. 

She  could  not  see  the  approaching  man's  form,  but  she 
could  hear  his  voice,  and  she  could  distinguish  a  pecu- 
liar tone  which  caused  her  to  fear  this  man  on  whom 
she  believed  that  she  was  dependent  for  support. 

Pierre  saw  that  the  friend  whom  the  girls  were  expect- 
ing bad  arrived,  and  taking  up  the  water  can  from  his 
wheel,  he  limped  slowly  down  the  long  flight  of  stone 
steps  which  led  to  the  river,  to  fill  it. 

He  could  not  repress  a  sigh  as  he  went,  thinking  that 
he  should  never  again  see  the  fair  young  girls  who  were 
so  pure  and  so  holy,  that  while  in  their  presence  it  seemed 
to  him  he  was  standing  in  a  bright,  glorious  ray  of  sun- 
light. 

"  We  began  to  be  very  anxious,"  said  Henriette,  as  the 
man  waited  for  her  to  speak. 

Lafleur  could  not  meet  the  gaze  of  the  pure  girl  against 
whom  he  was  about  to  commit  so  great  and  deadly  a 
wrong,  and  holding  his  head  in  such  a  position  that  his 
eyes  might  not  meet  hers,  he  said : 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  for  I  live  at  a  great  distance 
from  here." 

"  A  great  distance?  "  exclaimed  Henriette,  in  surprise. 
"  Why,  we  were  told  that  your  house  was  but  a  few  steps 
from  the  bridge,"  said  Louise,  excitedly,  at  thus  receiv- 
ing such  direct  confirmation  to  the  fears  which  his  voice 
had  aroused  in  her  mind. 

Lafleur  saw  at  once  that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  He 
was  thinking  of  Bel- Air,  and  had,  for  the  moment,  for- 
gotten the  part  he  was  playing.  And  in  his  endeavor 
to  rectify  his  error  quickly,  he  made  matters  very  much 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  29 

worse  by  the  hesitating,  nervous  manner  in  which  ho 
sp»ke. 

"  Yes — yes,  indeed  it  was — that  is,  I  did  live  but  a 
short  distance  from  here ;  but  you  see  I  have  moved,, 
Come— come,  let  us  go,  mademoiselle." 

"  You  have  moved  ?  "  replied  Henriette,  still  too  much 
surprised  by  her  relative's  appearance  to  be  able  fully  to 
collect  her  ideas. 

"Yes — yes,  only  yesterday,"  replied  Lafleur,  impa- 
tiently, as  he  felt  he  could  not  keep  up  the  very  thin 
semblance  of  honesty  which  he  had  assumed,  much 
longer  before  the  searching  eyes  of  these  innocent  girls. 

"  And  you  said  nothing  of  it  in  your  letter  ?  "  queried 
Henriette,  as  she  shrunk  back  from  any  contact  with  the 
base  wretch  who  stood  before  her. 

"  No,"  answered  Lafleur,  quickly.  "  I  did  not  men- 
tion it  because — because,  in  short,  I  did  not  know  that  I 
was  going  to  move,  but  if  you  doubt  me,  here  are  some 
neighbors  of  mine,  good,  honest  citizens,  who  will  vouch 
for  me." 

As  he  spoke  he  made  a  sign  which  was  unseen  by 
Henriette.  and  at  the  same  instant  three  men  came  out 
from  the  same  atigle  of  the  building  at  which  Lafleur 
emerged,  and  came  toward  the  little  group. 

It  was  impossible  to  see  one  sign  of  honesty  about 
these  neighbors  of  Lafleur's ;  but  on  the  contrary,  their 
appearance  and  manner  proclaimed  them  to  be  men  who, 
for  the  sake  of  a  few  francs,  would  not  hesitate  at  any 
action,  however  vile. 

Had  honest  Pierre  been  sent  by  fate  just  at  that  par- 
ticular  moment,  he  would  have  had  no  difficulty  in 
recognizing  them  as  cut-throats  who  were  known  to  be 
ready  for  any  species  of  villainy  which  promised  to 
bring  them  in  money. 

As  Henriette  saw  the  men  advancing  toward  her,  she 


30  THE  TWO   OKPHAN 

looked  into  their  faces,  and  in  an  instant  had  read  thei* 
characters  as  plainly  as  if  she  were  reading  the  pages  of 
a  book. 

Louise  felt  intuitively  that  some  trouble  impended, 
for  she  caught  her  sister  by  the  arm  and  exclaimed : 
"  Henriette,  do  not  leave  me  ! " 

Henriette  had  no  time  to  answer  her  sister's  entreaty, 
for  the  men  whom  Lafleur  had  called  up  had  approached 
very  near,  and  one  had  stepped  between  her  and  Louise. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  she  asked,  panting 
with  fear. 

She  received  no  reply ;  but  Lafleur  turned  quickly  to 
his  men,  and  cried: 

"Come — come,  we  have  lost  time  enough.  To  the 
carriage  t " 

This  was  evidently  the  signal  which  the  scoundrels 
were  waiting  to  hear,  for  they  at  once  sprung  upon  Hen- 
riette and  grasped  her  firmly. 

Struggling  impotently  in  their  clutches,  she  got  her 
head  free  long  enough  to  cry  in  an  imploring  voice : 

"  No — no !  Help — help  !  "  and  vainly  tried  to  prevent 
the  villains  from  covering  her  face  with  a  handkerchief 
which  was  saturated  with  some  pungent  odor. 

The  struggle  was  very  brief.  In  less  than  thirty  sec- 
onds the  dastardly  deed  was  done,  and  Henriette  wa* 
borne  rapidly  away,  leaving  Louise  petrified  with  fear. 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS,  81 

CHAPTER  V. 

BLIND  AND  ALONE. 

FOR  an  instant  the  blind  girl  stood  in  an  anxious,  lis- 
tening attitude,  hoping  to  hear  her  sister's  voice  again ; 
but  no  familiar  sound  met  her  ear,  only  the  rushing  of 
the  water,  or  the  footsteps  of  some  pedestrian  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

She  was  alone  in  Paris.  Blind  and  alone,  without 
relatives  or  friends.  No  one  to  whom  she  could  go  save 
to  Him  who  watches  over  the  sparrow,  and  His  ways 
are  not  man's  ways. 

"  I  hear  nothing,"  said  Louise,  in  a  terrified  whisper, 
as  she  again  bent  her  head  to  listen.  Then,  in  a  voice 
trembling  with  fear,  she  cried :  "  Henriette,  where  is  that 
man  1  Sister,  why  do  you  not  answer  me  ?  " 

But  no  reply  came  to  her  agonized  cries. 

"Henriette!  Henriette!  Speak  to  me,  speak  one 
word.  Answer  me,  Henriette !  "  No  answer,  no  reply ! 

At  this  moment  she  heard  a  half  stifled  cry  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  recognized  the  tones  of  the  voice. 

"  Louise,"  was  the  cry,  and  the  poor  blind  girl  knew 
that  her  sister  was  beyond  reach,  and  in  the  power  of 
cruel  men  who  knew  no  mercy. 

"Ah!  'tis  she.  They  have  dragged  her  away  from 
me !  "  exclaimed  Louise,  in  a  tone  which  would  have 
thrilled  a  hearer's  heart  with  pity.  "  Oh,  what  shall  I 
do !  Alone — alone  I  abandoned !  " 

And  with  the  last  word  the  full  measure  of  her  situa- 
tion surged  across  her  brain  with  irresistible  force,  and 
she  burst  into  a  torrent  of  tears.  Would  that  it  were 
possible  to  express  through  the  cold  medium  of  letters 
all  the  intense  suffering  which  came  from  the  poor  girl's 
heart  with  that  one  word  "  Abandoned." 


»  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

The  reader,  sitting  in  his  or  her  cozy  home,  surrounded 
by  friends,  can  have  no  idea  of  what  the  word  may  ex- 
press ;  no  idea  of  how  a  loving  heart  may  be  wrung 
when  that  word  portrays  their  situation  as  fully  as  it  did 
in  Louise's  position. 

"  What  will  become  of  me  ?  "  she  cried,  between  her 
sobs.  "  Alone  in  this  great  city  ;  helpless  and  blind — 
my  God  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  Where  am  I  to  go  ?  I  do 
not  know  which  way  to  turn  I " 

The  poor  child  knew  that  she  was  standing  in  the 
street,  and  in  danger  of  being  rudely  pushed  about  by 
any  party  of  revelers,  or  so-called  gallants,  that  might 
pass  her,  and  her  instinct,  for  her  brain  was  in  such  a 
whirl  that  she  could  not  think,  warned  her  to  try  and 
reach  some  place  less  exposed. 

She  groped  her  way  around;  but  her  hands  touched 
nothing,  until  unwittingly  she  approached  the  railing  or 
wall  which  served  as  a  guard  to  the  steep  bank  that  de- 
scended to  the  river. 

Along  this  she  felt  her  way  until  suddenly  her  handa 
met  the  empty  air.  It  was  the  angle  formed  by  the 
long  flights  of  rough  stone  steps  which  led  to  the  water, 
and  all  unconscious  of  her  danger,  she  was  about  to  pur- 
sue  her  way. 

Another  step  and  she  would  have  been  dashed  upon 
jhe  rocky  shore  below,  when,  without  having  heard  a 
sound,  she  found  herself  clasped  in  a  man's  arms. 

It  was  Pierre,  who,  having  filled  his  water-can,  had 
toiled  laboriously  to  the  top  of  the  steps  just  in  time  to 
save  the  life  of  her  who,  to  him,  had  seemed  little  less 
than  an  angel. 

"Great  heavens  I  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  bore  her  to  the 
centre  of  the  small  square,  "  what  were  you  going  to 
do?" 

"Nothing — nothing — what  was  it?  "  cried  Louise,  in- 


o 


THE  TWO 

coherently,  as,  pale  and  trembling,  she  tried  to  compre- 
hend all. 

"Another  step  and  you  would  have  fallen  in  the 
river  1"  answered  Pierre,  in  a  tone  of  horror  at  the 
thought  of  what  might  have  happened. 

"  Oh,  save  me — save  me  1 "  cried  Louise,  grasping 
Pierre  by  the  arm,  as  though  fearful  of  being  separated 
from  one  who  could  ussist  her. 

By  a  singular  chance,  Pierre's  mother  had  finished  her 
drinking  bout  with  her  beautiful  son  Jacques,  which  was 
paid  for  with  a  cripple's  scanty  earnings,  just  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  she  emerged  from  the  cabaret  just  in  time  to 
aee  her  son  supporting  a  beautiful  young  girl  on  his  arm. 

It  was  seldom  that  Mother  Frochard  allowed  herself 
to  be  surprised  by  anything  she  saw  ;  but  in  this  instance 
she  was  astonished.  Had  it  been  Jacques  she  would  not 
have  wondered ;  indeed,  it  only  would  have  seemed 
natural.  But  Pierre !  why,  the  girl  must  be  crazy,  was 
her  first  thought ;  and  then  with  her  masculine  stride  she 
went  up  to  them,  and  peered  curiously  in  Louise's  pala 
»nd  frightened  face. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter?  "  she  asked.  "What  art 
you  doing  there,  Pierre  ?  " 

But  Pierre  was  too  much  occupied  with  his  charge  to 
make  any  reply,  and  La  Frochard  seized  Louise  by 
the  arm  with  no  gentle  force,  and  asked  in  her  shrill 
rasping  voice : 

"  Young  woman,  did  you  fall  ?  " 

Harsh  and  coarse  as  the  voice  was,  it  was  a  welcome 
sound  to  Louise,  for  she  knew  it  was  one  of  her  own  sex 
who  had  spoken. 

She  took  hold  of  the  hard,  dirty  hand,  and  because  it 
was  a  woman's  touch  that  met  hers,  she  could  have 
kissed  it. 

"  Oh,  madame,"  she  cried,  in  an  imploring  tone.   "  Do 


84  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

not  leave  me,  I  beg.  I  entreat  you  not  to  leave  me  her* 
all  alone." 

Mother  Frochard  prided  herself  upon  not  being 
weak,  and  she  did  not  deign  to  answer  Louise's  prayer. 

But  Pierre  hastened  to  reassure  her. 

"  Calm  yourself,  mademoiselle,  there  is  no  dange, 
now,"  he  said,  soothingly,  as  he  gazed  upon  her  beauti- 
ful face. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  old  woman,  impatiently. 
"  Have  you  lost  your  head  ?  " 

And  in  the  last  question  there  was  a  sneer  in  the  tones 
of  the  voice  which  were  growing  harder  and  harder 
every  moment. 

"  Yes — yes,"  answered  Louise,  hardly  knowing  what 
she  said.  "  I  believe  I  shall  go  mad.  Alas  I  madame, 
a  few  moments  ago  my  sister  was  here  with  me  and  they 
have  stolen  her  away  from  me." 

"Stolen  her?  "  replied  Pierre,  in  tones  of  the  deepeai 
commiseration,  which  presented  a  striking  contrast  to 
his  mother's  remark. 

"  Well,  you  must  let  your  parents  know,"  she  said, 
coldly,  as  though  having  a  child  stolen  were  nothing' 
more  than  a  bit  of  pleasantry  which  was  easily  rectified. 

"Our  parents!"  exclaimed  Louise,  sadly,  breaking 
once  more  into  tears.  "  Alas,  madame,  we  are  orphans  I " 

"  You  have  acquaintances — friends  ?  "  said  Pierre. 

"  We  have  only  just  arrived  in  Paris,  and  I  know  n^ 
one  here." 

To  Pierre  this  intelligence  was  sad ;  but  his  mother 
seemed  to  view  the  matter  differently,  for  she  asked, 
eagerly : 

"No  one — no  one  at  all?"  Louise  shook  her  head 
Badly. 

"  Were  the  people  who  took  your  sister  away,  gentle- 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  35 

men  or  common  people  ?  "  asked  Pierre,  with  the  faint 
hope  that  he  might  aid  her  to  find  her  sister. 

"How  can  I  tell?"  asked  Louise,  mournfully. 

"You  could  see  their  clothes,"  said  Mother  Fro- 
ehard,  impatient  at  what  she  believed  tke  stupidity  of 
the  girl. 

"  Alas,  madame,  I  am  blind,"  said  Louise,  sadly. 

"  You  are  blind  I  "  exclaimed  Pierre,  pityingly,  as  he 
gazed  at  her  sightless  eyes. 

Mother  Frochard  looked  at  the  young  girl  much  as 
one  would  look  at  some  newly  discovered  treasure,  and 
she  saw  in  a  moment  many  ways  of  turning  her  prize  to 
account. 

u  Ah,  ha  I"  she  thought,  "  Blind,  without  relations 
friends,  or  acquaintances  in  Paris;  and  young  and 
pretty." 

**  It  is  true,"  said  the  cripple,  as  he  finished  his  exam- 
ination of  the  poor  girl's  eyes,  and  turned  sadly  away. 

**So  young  and  pretty,  too,"  he  said,  half  to  himself, 
wiping  away  a  tear,  that,  despite  all  his  efforts,  would 
make  its  appearance. 

"Go!  leave  me  alone  with  her,"  said  the  old  woman. 
M  I'll  take  care  of  her." 

But  Mother  Frochard's  promise  to  "  take  care  "  of  the 
poor  girl  meant  a  great  deal  more  than  the  words  con- 
veyed. Her  care  was  something  to  be  shunned,  and  God 
have  mercy  on  the  unfortunate  whom  the  old  woman 
should  take  under  her  protecting  care  ! 

"Yes,  mother,"  said  Pierre,  signifying  his  readiness  to 
obey  his  mother's  commands,  "  we  must  help  her  to  find 
her  sister." 

"That's  all  right!"  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  in  a 
voice  which  she  meant  should  be  kind  and  motherly ; 
but  at  the  same  time  darting  a  furious  look  at  Pierre, 
WJio  still  lingered.  "  I  know  what  to  do." 


36  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

Pierre  stood  gazing  at  the  blind  girl,  who  still  retained 
her  hold  of  the  old  woman's  arm,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he 
was-  unable  to  leave  her  charmed  presence. 

"  You  get  out  I "  exclaimed  the  old  woman  suddenly, 
in  a  fierce  whisper,  as  she  unloosed  the  girl's  grasp,  and 
went  toward  the  cripple. 

Fearing  lest  she  was  about  to  be  deprived  of  her  pro- 
tectress, Louise  said,  as  she  vainly  endeavored  to  touch 
her  arm  again : 

"  You  will  not  leave  me,  madame  I " 

"  Never  fear,  my  dear,  I  am  here,"  replied  Mother 
Frochard,  cheeringly. 

Pierre  went  slowly  toward  his  wheel,  and  raising  it  on 
his  back,  started  to  go.  He  could  not  resist  a  last  glance 
at  the  young  girl. 

"  Blind  I  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  gazed  upon  her  slight 
form.  "  So  young  and  so  pretty."  Then,  as  he  thought 
of  his  own  deformity,  a  bitter  smile  passed  over  his  face, 
which  in  its  bitterness  was  painful,  because  of  the  misery 
which  it  served  to  portray,  and  he  added : 

"  Pretty  1  what  is  that  to  you,  miserable  cripple? ' 

And  as  if  he  had  convinced  himself  that  he  must  not 
think  of  beauty,  or  any  thing  but  his  own  wretchedness, 
he  walked  wearily  away,  while  his  cry  of "  Knives  to 
grind  1"  was  doubly  pathetic  in  the  intensity  of  the  de- 
spair that  seemed  to  come  with  it. 

"  Come— come,  my  pretty  child,  don't  be  downcast," 
said  Mother  Frochard,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  blind 
girl's  shoulder,  and  took  mental  note  of  the  clothing 
which  the  poor  girl  wore. 

"Alas!  to  whom  shall  I  go  for  help?  "  asked  Louise, 
sadly. 

"  To  me,"  said  La  Frochard,  throwing  all  the  dignity 
find  maternal  tone  possible  into  her  words.  "  I  am  an 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  87 

honest  woman,  and  mother  of  a  family.  I  will  gire  you 
a  home  until  you  find  your  sister." 

"  Ah,  madame,  you  are  very  good  to  have  pity  on  me,*1 
said  Louise,  thankfully.  "  But  we  will  find  my  sister, 
will  we  not  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  certainly,  in  time,"  said  the  old  woman, 
thinking  that  she  would  take  plenty  of  time  to  do  it— • 
"  come,  then,  come  along  with  me." 

Louise,  without  a  fear  of  what  she  was  to  suffer 
through  the  old  woman's  fiendishness,  said,  confidingly : 

"  I  trust  myself  to  you,  madame." 

"  You  couldn't  do  better,  for  you  have  fallen  into  good 
hands." 

And  the  old  woman  led  the  blind  girl  to  her  vile  den, 
and  the  sister,  who  had  been  stolen,  was  still  in  the  hands 
of  her  abductors. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  HOME  OF  THE  FROCHARD9. 

MOTHER  FROCHARD  led  Louise  along  the  streets  in  a 
careful  manner,  although,  had  the  poor  girl  not  been  so 
engrossed  with  the  thoughts  of  the  loss  she  had  just  sus- 
tained, she  would  have  noticed  that  although  they  walked 
in  a  leisurely  manner  through  those  streets  that  were 
evidently  deserted,  the  old  woman  Quickened  her  pace 
very  perceptibly  whenever  they  approached  any  trav 
eler. 

For  some  moments  neither  La  Frochard  nor  Louise 
spoke.  The  one  was  thinking  of  the  prize  she  had 
found,  and  of  the  best  means  of  making  her  serve  her 
purpose,  while  the  other  was  thinking  of  the  siater  she 
had  lost. 

Jfow  it  was  not  Mother  Frochard's  custom  to  walk 


88  THE)  TWO  ORPHANS. 

through  the  streets  in  this  quiet  manner;  for  she  was  a 
professional  beggar,  and  her  monotonous,  nasal  cry  of 
"  Charity,  good  people — charity  for  a  poor  old  woman," 
was  well  known  in  the  quarters  which  she  frequented. 
But  on  this  occasion,  she  did  not  wish  to  let  Louise  know 
what  her  business  was ;  and  again,  she  did  not  wish  to  at- 
tract  attention,  as  she  feared  it  might  excite  suspicion  if 
she  was  observed  with  the  neatly  dressed,  innocent  look* 
ing  country  girl. 

<l  Have  you  always  been  blind,  my  dear?  "  she  asked, 
in  what  was  intended  to  be  a  kind,  motherly  voice. 

"Oh,  no,  madame,"  replied  Louise.  "I  have  only 
been  blind  two  years." 

"  Two  years  1 "  replied  La  Frochard ;  "  and  what  caused 
you  to  lose  your  sight  ?  " 

"  I  was  very  sick  with  a  fever,  and  something  seemed 
to  grow  over  my  eyes,"  replied  Louise,  sadly,  as  she 
thought  of  the  time  when  she  was  thus  shut  out  from  the 
world  and  imprisoned,  as  it  were,  within  herself. 

"  I  don't  suppose  there  is  any  chance  of  your  ever  be- 
ing cured,  is  there  ?  "  asked  the  old  woman,  with  a  view 
of  finding  out  whether  there  was  any  chance  of  the  girl's 
being  able  to  leave  her  motherly  care. 

"  Henriette  thinks  that  I  may  be  cured  ;  there  are  so 
many  skillful  pkysicians  in  this  great  city,"  answered 
Louise,  with  the  tears  filling  her  eyes  again  as  she  wa§ 
thus  so  vividly  reminded  of  her  sister.  "  She  sold  all  wa 
possessed  to  raise  money  enough  to  pay  the  doctors." 

"  So  you  had  property,  then  ?  " 

"A  very  little,  madame.  When  our  dear  parents  died 
they  left  us  the  little  cottage  in  which  we  lived.  But 
how  much  further  have  we  to  go  ?  " 

And  Louise's  voice,  as  she  asked  the  question,  told 
plainly  how  weary  she  was. 

"  Only  a  few  steps,  dear.     We  are  poor  people,  and 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  39 

can  not  live  in  fine  houses,  so  we  have  a  little  house  by 
the  river.  But  courage,"  said  the  old  woman,  patting 
her  on  the  shoulder.  "  We  shall  soon  be  there." 

Wearily  the  blind  girl  followed  her  guide.  She  was 
entirely  worn  out  by  the  excitement  and  fatigues  of  the 
day,  and  any  shelter,  however  humble  or  poor,  would 
have  been  gladly  welcomed  by  her. 

"  We  shall  find  my  sister  in  the  morning,  shall  we 
not,  madame  ?  "  asked  Louise,  for  the  second  time. 

"It  may  take  some  days,"  replied  Mother  Frochard, 
evasively.  "  You  must  try  not  to  think  of  her  to- 
night." 

A  prayer  went  up  from  the  poor  girl's  heart  that  her 
sister  might  be  speedily  restored  to  her,  and  she  silently 
followed  the  old  woman.  After  they  had  walked,  as  it 
seemed  to  Louise,  many  miles,  Mother  Frochard  stop- 
ped before  a  house  which,  from  the  outside  appearance, 
had  formerly  been  a  boat-house.  It  was  in  the  last  stages 
of  decay,  and  the  whole  surroundings  seemed  a  fit  abode 
of  crime. 

"  Here  we  are,  dear ;  here  we  are  at  last !  "  said  the 
old  woman,  as  she  led  Louise  through  a  long,  dark  pass- 
age, and  then  down  several  damp,  moldy  steps,  and  left 
her  standing  in  a  small  entry,  reeking  with  noisome 
odors,  while  she  fumbled  in  her  capacious  pockets  for 
the  key 

The  door  was  opened  at  last,  and  the  two  entered  a 
large  square  room,  the  furniture  of  which  was  of  the 
rudest  description.  Two  large,  barn-like  doors,  which, 
opened  on  the  water  front,  and  which  were  barred  with 
heavy  wooden  bars,  showed  that  at  some  very  remote 
time  the  building  had  been  used,  as  its  outside  appear- 
ance indicated,  for  a  boat-house. 

A  flight  of  steps  led  from  the  centre  of  the  room  to 
what  was  probably  the  garret ;  but  several  straw  beds  ia 


4d  THE   TWO  ORPHANS. 

one  corner  of  the  room  showed  that  the  lower  floor  wai 
the  only  portion  of  the  house  which  was  used. 

Louise  shuddered  as  she  entered  the  damp,  disagree- 
able-smelling room;  but  her  feelings  would  have  been 
much  worse  could  she  have  seen  the  vile  place,  and  the 
gleam  of  triumph  which  shone  in  the  old  woman's 
eyes  as  she  saw  that  she  had  her  prize  securely  caged. 

"  Sit  down  there,"  said  La  Frochard,  "  and  1  will  get 
you  something  to  eat." 

And  the  old  woman  led  Louise  to  a  chair,  where,  by 
placing  her  hands  on  her  shoulders,  she  forced  her  to  be 
seated. 

"I  do  not  care  to  eat,  madame,"  said  Louise,  pit- 
eously.  "  If  you  will  allow  me  to  go  to  my  room,  I  will 
retire." 

"  Go  to  your  room  1 "  cried  Mother  Frochard  in  a 
hard,  shrill  voice,  from  which  all  the  assumed  tender- 
ness had  fled.  "  Do  you  think  we  keep  an  inn?  " 

And  the  old  wretch  stood,  with  her  hands  on  her 
hips,  before  the  poor  girl,  who  shrunk  from  before  the 
mocking  words  as  from  a  blow. 

"  I — did — not  know,  madame,"  she  faltered ;  "  I  was 
very  weary,  and  wanted  to  retire." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  go  to  sleep,  you  can  do  that 
over  here,"  and  the  old  woman  led  her  toward  the  beds 
in  the  corner.  "These  are  good  enough  for  my  hand- 
some Jacques,  and  I  guess  they  will  do  for  you,  ray  fine 
lady." 

"  Anything  will  do  for  me,  madame,"  said  Louise,  in 
a  conciliatory  tone.  "  I  did  not  know  you  were  so 
poor ;  but  Henriette  will  pay  you  to-morrow  when  we 
find  her." 

And  with  a  sigh  of  thankfulness  for  the  resting-place, 
poor  and  wretched  as  it  was,  Louise  sunk  upon  one  of 
the  dirty  straw  beds,  dressed  as  she  was,  and  after  bav« 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  41 

ing  uttered  her~child-like  prayer,  sunk  into  a  profound 
slumber. 

"  Yes,  your  sister  will  pay  me  for  my  trouble  after 
we  have  found  her,  my  fine  lady,"  muttered  Frochard, 
as  she  seated  herself  by  the  side  of  a  rude  table,  and 
from  some  one  of  its  drawers  produced  a  bottle  of 
brandy. 

Several  copious  draughts  had  the  effect  of  changing 
the  old  woman  completely,  and  she  muttered  to  herself 
while  she  cast  threatening  glances  at  the  young  girl, 
who,  calmly  sleeping,  was  all  unconscious  of  the  danger 
which  surrounded  her. 

In  about  half  an  hour  after  La  Frochard  and  Louise 
entered  the  house,  and  while  the  old  woman  was  still 
communing  with  the  brandy  bottle,  a  loud  bustle  was 
heard  in  the  passage  just  outside  the  door. 

Mother  Frochard  listened  intently,  and  gazed  toward 
the  bed,  as  if  to  see  whether  the  noise  would  awake  the 
girl,  until  several  loud  curses  in  a  well-known  voice 
caused  a  complacent  smile  to  appear  upon  her  face,  and 
she  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  saying: 

"  It's  Jacques,  my  handsome  Jacques." 

At  the  same  moment,  with  a  drunken  swagger,  Jac- 
ques entered  the  room. 

"  Well,  my  boy,  what  luck  ?  "  asked  his  mother,  as 
she  gazed  admiringly  upon  him. 

"The  worst  of  luck,"  answered  Jacques,  sullenly,  as 
he  seated  himself  upon  a  low  stool,  and  began  filling  his 
pipe.  "  Marianne  has  deceived  me." 

"  Deceived  you !  Oh,  the  wretch,"  exclaimed  the  old 
woman,  in  a  tone  which  told  plainly  what  Marianne 
might  expect  if  she  should  get  her  in  her  grasp  once. 
"But  how  did  she  deoeive  you?  " 

44  She  gave  herself  up  to  the  guard.     I  told  her  to  find 


42  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

a  purse,  and  after  she  had  done  it,  she  gave  herself  up  to 
get  away  from  me,  so  she  said." 

Just  then  Louise  made  a  movement  in  her  sleep  which 
attracted  Jacques'  attention. 

"  Hallo !  What  hare  you  got  here?  "  he  asked,  as  he 
•went  toward  the  bed. 

Mother  Frochard  related  the  story  of  how  she  found 
JJouise,  and  when  she  had  concluded,  Jacques  gave  vent 
to  his  satisfaction  in  a  prolonged  whistle. 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  her?"  he  asked,  at 
length,  still  gazing  upon  the  beautiful  face  of  the  sleep- 
ing girl. 

"  She  shall  go  out  with  me  and  'sing ;  the  money  will 
come  in  fast  enough  then,  I'll  warrant,"  replied  the  old 
woman,  betaking  herself  once  more  to  her  bottle. 

"  Hallo !  it's  full  again,  is  it  ?  "  said  Jacques,  as  he 
reached  over,  and  taking  the  bottle  from  his  mother's 
hand,  took  a  draught  which  was  both  long  and  deep. 

Mother  and  son,  as  they  sat  there,  with  all  the  brutal- 
ity in  their  hard  natures  aroused  by  the  fiery  liquid  they 
had  drunk,  were  a  well-mated  couple,  and  Louise  seemed 
as  much  out  of  place  in  their  den  as  a  lily-of  the-valley 
would  be  in  the  midst  of  fungus. 

The  evening  meal  had  been  prepared  and  nearly  dis- 
patched when  Pierre,  looking  faded  and  sorrowful, 
entered  the  hut  with  his  wheel  strapped  upon  his  back. 

Neither  his  mother  nor  Jacques  paid  any  attention  to 
him  as  he  entered,  and  he  went  quickly  to  the  further 
end  of  the  room  to  leave  his  wheel,  when  he  was  arrest- 
ed by  the  sight  of  the  sleeping  girl. 

With  a  low  cry  expressive  of  delight  he  stooped  and 
gazed  at  the  lovely  face.  Then  leaving  his  wheel  in  its 
accustomed  place,  he  returned  to  the  bedside,  and  kneel- 
ing down,  looked  at  her  much  as  a  pilgrim  might  at  the 
Mecca  of  his  faith. 


THE  TWO   ORPIIANS.  43 

"  Look  at  the  cripple,"  said  Jacques  to  his  mother,  and 
4hen  both  broke  out  in  a  coarse  laugh  which  aroused  him 
from  his  worship. 

He  ate  the  fragments  which  had  been  left  by  his 
mother  and  Jacques,  silently,  and  then  commenced  to  do 
some  work  which  he  had  brought  home  with  him,  while 
the  other  two  began  a  night  of  drinking,  which  was  the 
rule  rather  than  the  exception. 

The  morning  came,  and  with  it  the  first  intimation  to 
poor  Louise  of  what  her  life  would  be. 

She  was  aroused  by  the  heavy  hand  of  Mother  Fro- 
chard,  who  pulled  her  roughly  to  a  standing  position. 

"  Get  up,  my  fine  lady,  get  up  and  try  to  earn  your 
own  living.  You  don't  think  that  we  can  keep  you  in 
idleness,  do  ye  ?  "  said  the  old  wretch,  in  a  voice  which 
was  yet  thick  from  the  effects  of  the  previous  night's 
dissipation. 

For  a  moment  Louise  could  not  understand  where  she 
was,  or  what  had  happened,  and  then  like  a  flood  the 
remembrance  of  her  loss  rushed  over  her. 

She  could  make  no  reply ;  indeed,  she  only  half  under- 
stood what  had  been  said  to  her,  and  sitting  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed,  she  commenced  to  cry. 

Pierre  and  Jacques  were  watching  the  proceedings. 
The  former  with  a  look  of  pity  and  compassion,  and  the 
latter  with  amusement. 

"  Now,  then  1 "  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  as  she 
dragged  the  girl  to  her  feet  again.  "  Can  you  sing  ?  " 

Louise  did  not  reply,  but  wept  more  violently. 

"  Can  you  sing  ?  "  screamed  the  old  hag,  at  the  same 
time  grasping  the  poor  girl  by  the  arm  in  a  manner 
which  caused  her  to  wince  with  pain. 

"  Yes — yes,  madaine  !  "  replied  Louise,  in  affright. 

"  "Well,  I  want  you  to  come  out  with  me,  and  earn 
your  living  \ " 


44  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

"  How,  madame  ?  " 

"  How  ?     Why,  by  singing  in  the  streets,  to  be  sure." 

"  I  can  not,  madame,  I  can  not  I "  exclaimed  the  poor 
girl,  piteouslj.  "  You  said  we  should  find  my  sister  to- 
day." 

"  It  will  take  me  many  days  to  find  your  sister,  I'm 
thinking !  "  snarled  La  Frochard,  "  and  you've  got  to 
help  your  friends." 

"  You  mean  for  me  to  beg  ?  "  gasped  Louise. 

"  No,  my  lady.  You  do  the  singing,  and  I'll  do  the 
begging." 

Louise  cowered  down  upon  the  bed  like  one  stricken 
with  a  blow. 

"  You'll  have  to  take  that  out  of  her,"  laughed  Jac- 
ques, who  was  enjoying  the  spectacle. 

"  But  you  promised  her  that  you  would  find  her  sis- 
ter," said  Pierre,  hastily  wiping  the  tears  from  his  eyes, 
and  starting  to  his  feet. 

"  Oh,  ho,  master  cripple,  who  told  you  to  speak  ?  Go 
sit  down!  "  said  Jacques,  dealing  the  lame  boy  a  violent 
blow,  which  sent  him  reeling  to  the  further  end  of  the 
room. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Mother  Frochard,  who  had  brought 
an  old  dress  and  a  pair  of  shoes  to  the  weeping  girl, 
"  you  will  take  off  your  fine  clothes  and  put  these  on. 
They  will  become  you  much  better." 

"Madame!"  exclaimed  Louise,  falling  on  her  knees 
before  the  old  woman.  "  I  pray  you  to  help  me  find  my 
sister.  Madame,  for  the  love  of  Heaven  help  me,  or  I 
shall  go  mad ! " 

A  coarse  laugh  from  La  Frochard  and  Jacques  drowned 
Pierre's  pitying  exclamation. 

"  Don't  waste  any  time  with  her,  mother,"  said  Jac- 
ques. 

"  That  I  won't,"  said  the  old  woman.     "  Now,  look 


THH  TWO  ORPHANS.  46 

here,  I  am  willing  to  help  you  find  your  sister ;  but  that 
will  take  time,  and  you've  got  to  do  something  toward 
supporting  the  family  first." 

And  the  fiend  in  woman's  form  began  to  unloose  the 
blind  girl's  clothes,  preparatory  to  changing  them  for  th« 
rags  which  she  intended  her  to  wear. 

"  Do  not  force  her  to  beg,  mother,"  pleaded  the  lame 
boy. 

"  Shut  up  I "  was  Jacques'  brutal  order,  at  the  same 
time  threatening  him  with  his  hand.  "  The  girl  has  got 
to  beg,  and  that's  the  end  of  it ;  we'll  find  her  sister  when 
we  get  ready." 

These  words,  and  the  tone  in  which  they  were  uttered, 
showed  Louise  why  these  people  had  taken  her  to  their 
home,  and  she  resolved  not  to  submit  to  the  indignity. 

"  I  will  not  beg !  "  she  exclaimed,  while  the  color  rose 
to  her  cheeks.  "  You  may  kill  me,  but  I  will  not  beg  1 
I  will  ask  the  first  person  I  meet  to  save  me  from  your 
vile  hands." 

"  She's  got  quite  a  temper,"  sneered  Jacques,  "  and 
when  it's  roused,  she's  quite  decent-looking." 

"  Very  well,  my  lady — very  well.  I'll  soon  break  you 
of  that.  You'll  want  to  beg  or  do  something  else  before 
you've  been  in  the  garret  very  long." 

And  seizing  the  poor  girl  as  though  she  had  been  an 
infant,  she  carried  her  to  the  filthy  hole  under  the  roof. 

"  Oh,  do  not  leave  me  here  alone  1 "  screamed  Louise 
in  affright,  as  her  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  the 
enormous  rats  as  they  scampered  away  at  their  approach, 
and  the  odors  as  if  of  decayed  flesh  greeted  her.  "  I  shall 
die—I  shall  die!" 

And  she  struggled  vainly  in  the  old  woman's  strong 
grasp. 

"  Oh,  mother,  have  mercy  upon  her.  Do  not  shut  her 
up  in  that  filthy  place.  It  will  kill  herl"  implored 


46  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

Pierre,  as  he  endeavored  to  rush  up  the  steps  to  tke  poor 
girl's  aid. 

"Go  back,  cripple,"  laughed  Jacques,  at  the  same  time 
giving  the  boy  a  blow  which  laid  him  senseless  OB  the 
floor.  "  Go  on,  mother,"  he  said  to  the  old  hag.  "  A 
few  days  there  will  do  her  good." 

La  Frochard  had  no  idea  of  what  the  word  pity 
meant,  and  she  thrust  the  blind  girl,  who  was  already 
dead  with  fright  at  the  horrors  she  could  not  see,  but 
only  imagine,  into  the  vile  hole,  and  locked  the  door. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

GARDEN  OF  BEL- AIR. 

THE  Marquis  de  Presles  had  told  Lafleur  to  carry 
Henriette  to  Bel- Air,  and  we  will  visit  those  gardens  on 
the  same  evening  that  the  beautiful  orphan  was  ab- 
ducted. 

The  scene  there  was  a  brilliant  one,  well  illustrating 
the  pleasures  of  the  nobles  of  France  about  the  begin- 
ning of  the  present  century. 

A  small  garden  had  been  made  in  the  midst  of  a  nat- 
ural grove,  which  was  shut  out  from  the  curious  gaze 
of  the  world  by  several  small  cottages  or  chalets,  deco- 
rated in  the  highest  style  of  art ;  and  which  served  the 
Marquis  de  Presles  as  a  retreat,  where,  free  from  intru- 
sion, that  profligate  nobleman  could  enjoy  the  society  of 
boon  companions,  who,  like  himself,  lived  only  for  the 
present  and  its  pleasures. 

On  this  particular  evening  the  gardens  were  illumin- 
ated, and  a  large  party  of  so-called  ladies  and  gentlemen 
•were  assembled  to  do  full  honor  to  the  entertainments 
for  which  the  marquis  was  celebrated. 

As  we  attempt  to  pass  within  the  enclosure,  we  are 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  47 

Stopped  by  a  numerous  crowd  of  lackeys,  who  demand 
to  see  our  card  of  admission,  and  failing  to  produce  such 
a  passport,  we  are  told  we  are  not  allowed  even  near  the 
gardens ;  while  all  efforts  to  induce  any  of  them  to  pre- 
sent our  cards  to  the  master  of  this  retreat  are  equally 
unavailing,  as  they  declare  that  their  orders  are  most 
positive,  and  we  must  go  quietly  away  or  be  forced  to 
go.  Thus  jealously  does  the  marquis  guard  his  retreat 
from  importunate  creditor  or  unwelcome  fiiend. 

Inasmuch  as  we  only  visit  Bel- Air  in  fancy,  we  can 
bid  defiance  to  the  marquis's  orders,  and  enter  without 
his  permission. 

Around  the  tables  which  are  placed  in  the  garden,  a 
Dumber  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  are  seated,  drinking  wine 
while  they  discuss  the  latest  court  news,  or  the  most  in- 
teresting  scandal. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  my  retreat  from  the 
•whirl  and  bustle  of  Paris  ?  "  asked  the  marquis  of  his 
vis-d-vis,  who  was  a  dashing  sort  of  beauty. 

"  My  dear  Marquis,"  replied  that  lady,  "  I  am  delight- 
ed. It  is  a  satisfaction  to  find  a  gentleman  who  main, 
tains  the  customs  of  his  rank." 

"  And  yet  there  are  fools  who  want  to  change  them  I  '* 
exclaimed  a  young  nobleman  from  the  opposite  table. 

"  You  are  right — fools — fools,"  answered  De  Preslea, 
ss  he  motioned  to  the  servants  for  more  wine. 

"  By  the  way,"  asked  the  lady  who  had  first  spoken, 
"  you  have  heard  the  news  ?  " 

As  no  one  had  heard  any  thing  particularly  new  for  the 
past  two  hours,  she  continued  by  saying : 

"  They  say  that  the  new  minister  of  police  is  as  hard 
as  a  stone,  and  cold  as  a  fish.  He  is  going  to  put  a  stop 
to  all  our  amusements,  and,  marquis,  this  may  be  the 
last  entertainment  you  will  give  at  Bel- Air." 

"Nonsense  1 "  exclaimed  the  host.     "  I'd  like  to  see 


48  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

the  minister  of  police  who  would  dare  to  interfere  with 
the  pleasures  of  a  French  nobleman.  Who  and  what  ia 
he?" 

"  He  is  from  Touraine ;  is  called  the  Count  de  Lin« 
ieres,  and  is  the  uncle  of  the  Chevalier  Maurice  de  Vau= 
drey." 

"  Where  is  the  chevalier  ?  "  suddenly  asked  one  of  the 
ladies,  as  she  was  thus  reminded  of  one  whom  report 
had  described  as  rather  eccentric,  and  on  whom  she 
wished  to  exercise  her  charms.  "  You  promised  me  I 
should  see  him,  Marquis." 

"So  I  did,  and  I  expect  him,  as  well  as  another 
guest.  I  warn  you,  ladies,  that  she  will  be  a  rival  to 
you  all." 

"  Who  is  the  other  guest  ?  "  was  the  question  which 
assailed  him  from  all  quarters. 

"  A  young  lady,"  answered  the  marquis,  as  if  enrap- 
tured at  th#  thought.  "  Sweet  sixteen,  beautiful  as  a 
rose,  and  innocent  as  an  angel." 

"  Where  did  you  find  such  a  pearl  ?  "  asked  one  of 
the  ladies,  banteringly. 

"  In  Normandy." 

This  announcement  was  followed  by  a  general  laugh. 

"Yes,  I  know  these  Normandy  beauties  with  caps  six 
feet  high,"  laughed  one  of  the  ladies,  betraying  in  spite 
of  herself,  a  tinge  of  jealousy  in  her  voice. 

"  In  wooden  shoes,"  added  another  of  the  fair  ones, 
"  and  hair  plaited  down  her  back." 

"  Laugh  away,  ladies,"  said  De  Presles,  gayly.  "  You 
shall  see  a  Norman  beauty  in  a  high  cap,  wooden  shoes 
and  all,  and  then  see  how  jealous  you  will  all  become  at 
sight  of  her." 

At  this  moment  a  voice  was  heard  from  the  outside, 
and  in  the  midst  of  some  confusion,  a  rather  singular 
vc:~?  was  heard  saying : 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  49 

11 1  tell  you  I  must  go  in,  and  I  will.  I  must  speak  tc 
your  master." 

On  hearing  this  the  marquis  went  toward  the  entrance, 
and  demanded  of  the  servants  who  this  was  who  was  so 
importunate. 

"  Picard,"  answered  the  owner  of  the  singular  voice 
"  Picard,  valet  to  the  Chevalier  de  Vaudrey." 

The  marquis  immediately  gave  orders  that  he  be  ad- 
mitted, and  a  sharp,  wiry-looking  fellow,  wearing  the 
De  Vaudrey  livery,  stood  before  the  gay  party. 

"  Most  excellent  Marquis,  and  most  beautiful  ladies," 
said  he,  in  an  affectionate  tone,  and  with  a  low  bow, 
which  was  received  with  laughter,  "  I  am  very  sorry,  but 
my  master  asks  you  to  excuse  him." 

"Excuse  him?"  echoed  one  of  the  ladies,  "  why  he 
promised " 

"  I  did  the  promising,"  answered  Picard,  with  another 
of  his  sweeping  bows.  "  He  said  he  did  not  know 
whether  he  could  come  or  not,  but  thinking  I  could  per- 
suade  him,  I  promised  for  him." 

"  Then  you  took  a  great  liberty,"  said  De  Presles, 
"  and  he  ought  to  punish  you  for  it." 

"Certainly  he  ought,"  answered  Picard,  blandly ;  "I 
wish  he  would;  but  alas!  my  master  is  not  like  other 
masters.  In  fact,  he  is  no  master  at  all." 

Seeing  looks  of  incredulity  at  this  statement,  Picard 
continued,  in  a  most  solemn  manner  r 

"  It  is  so,  gentlemen.  He  spends  his  nights  in  pleas- 
ure, as  a  young  nobleman  should  ;  but  his  days — how  do 
you  suppose  he  spends  his  days  ?  " 

"Sleeps,  of  course,"  said  the  marquis,  in  a  positive 
tons. 

"Gentlemen,  allow  me  to  tell  you  confidentially,"  said 
the  valet,  mysteriously,  as  the  gentlemen  gathered 
around  him,  fully  expecting  to  bear  "<*  ""lie  treason. 


50  THE  TWO  OBPHANS. 

"  He  works  1  actually  works !  He  sits  down  and  reads 
and  writes  as  though  he  were  a  lawyer's  clerk." 

"  Bah  I "  exclaimed  one.  "  You  don't  expect  us  to 
believe  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  more,  too,"  answered  Picard,  who  enjoyed 
immensely  being  able  to  impart  some  information  to  his 
superiors.  "  Why,  how  do  you  suppose  he  acts  to  the 
common  people  who  want  to  see  him  ?  His  creditors, 
for  instance  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  they  are  importunate,  he  beats  them,  I  sup- 
pose," answered  De  Presles,  with  whom  this  method  of 
settling  his  bills  was  a  common  occurrence. 

"Yes,  he  beats  them,"  sneered  Picard;  "he  pays 
them  I  Yes,  gentlemen,  he  pays  his  tradespeople."  And 
the  valet  surveyed  the  group,  enjoying  the  surprise  he 
had  given  them. 

"Oh,  the  poor  fellow  is  lost  I"  exclaimed  one  of  the 
party,  who  at  the  age  of  twenty  had  spent  a  large  for- 
tune and  was  now  living  on  his  wits. 

"  Completely,"  affirmed  Picard,  "  c.rd  all  owing  to  the 
company  keeps.  He  won't  be  guided  by  me." 

"  Perhaps  he  is  right  in  that,"  answered  De  Preslea. 
"But  where  is  the  attraction  elsewhere  to-night?  " 

"I  will  tell  you,  gentlemen,"  said  a  deep  voice  near 
the  entrance  to  the  gardens,  and  looking  up,  all  saw  the 
Chevalier  de  Vaudrey  himself. 

He  was  a  noble-looking  man  with  none  of  the  fopper- 
ies and  evident  attempt  at  display  which  characterized 
some  of  his  companions,  and  a  careful  observer  would 
instantly  have  said  that  he  was,  in  mental  endowments, 
far  above  the  average. 

"  What  is  all  this  that  Picard  has  been  telling  us,  that 
you  were  not  coming  ?  "  asked  De  Presles,  in  surprise. 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  come,  so  sent  him  with  my  re- 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  61 

grets,"  answered  the  chevalier,  as  he  accepted  a  glass  of 
wine  which  was  handed  to  him. 

"  And  now  he  brings  them  himself,"  said  Picard,  in  a 
low  voice,  as  he  left  the  garden  hastily,  lest  his  mastei 
should  hear  of  the  disclosures  he  had  been  making. 

The  conversation  became  general,  and  before  long  the 
orgy  was  at  its  height,  when  a  noise  was  heard  at  the 
entrance,  and  Lafleur  appeared. 

After  whispering  a  few  words  to  the  marquis,  he  re- 
ceived the  order : 

**  Let  her  be  brought  in  here." 

Lafleur  immediately  retired,  and  returned  in  a  few 
minutes,  followed  by  four  men  who  bore  a  sort  of  litter, 
on  which  was  the  inanimate  form  of  Henriette. 

She  lay  like  one  dead ;  without  motion  or  color,  and 
save  for  the  sound  of  stertorous  breathing,  she  was  to 
all  appearances  dead. 

Into  the  midst  of  some  of  the  most  dissolute  Parisian 
society,  had  the  poor,  innocent,  unprotected  girl  been 
brought ;  with  no  one  to  aid  her,  and  even  those  of  her 
own  sex  who  were  by,  would  enjoy  her  suffering  rather 
than  do  anything  to  save  her  from  the  fearful  doom  that 
was  so  near. 

What  a  terrible  change  for  the  two  orphans,  who, 
scarcely  twenty-four  hours  previous,  were  light-hearted 
maidens,  setting  out  from  their  childhood's  home  to  visit 
the  beautiful  city  about  which  they  had  heard  so  much! 

Now,  one  was  in  the  power  of  low,  vile  wretches;  and 
the  other  in  the  hands  of  those  who  called  themselves 
gentle  people,  but  who  had  no  more  mercy,  in  fact,  not 
as  much  as  the  Frochards. 


St  THE  TWO  OBPHAXS. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

SAVED  FROM  DISHONOR. 

LIKE  a  lily  half  broken  from  its  stein  lay  Henrietta, 
upon  the  litter,  surrounded  by  the  revelers  who  had 
gathered  to  see  the  Norman  beauty. 

Under  the  influence  of  the  drug  which  had  been  ad- 
ministered,  she  remained  unconscious  of  the  rude  jests 
which  were  uttered,  and  the  coarse  laugh  of  triumph 
which  greeted  her  arrival. 

Only  one  of  the  gay  party  was  without  curiosity  re- 
specting her  appearance. 

That  one  was  the  Chevalier  Maurice  de  Vaudrey. 

He  passed  by  her  as  she  was  brought  in,  and  seeing 
what  it  was  that  lay  upon  the  litter,  contented  himself 
by  remarking : 

"  A  young  girl !     The  sport  has  been  good." 

Then  resuming  his  seat  he  waited  listlessly  until  some 
disposition  should  be  made  of  the  game  which  had  been 
so  bravely  captured. 

"  Ah,  is  this  our  threatened  rival  ?  "  asked  one  of  the 
females,  after  looking,  not  without  a  feeling  of  envy,  at 
the  pale  features  of  the  abducted  girl. 

"  Why,  she  has  fainted,"  remarked  another,  in  a  sar- 
castic voice. 

"  Sleeping,  my  dear,"  said  the  first,  "  it's  much  more 
becoming." 

At  this  lively  sally  of  wit,  a  general  laugh  went 
around  the  company. 

"  I'll  wager  that  her  eyes  are  but  half  closed,  and  that 
she  is  laughing  to  herself  at  all  the  trouble  you  are  tak- 
ing," said  the  cynical  De  Vaudrey,  \rho  had,  years 
before,  lost  faith  in  woman-kind. 

And  it  is  little  woudvr  that  in  that  diMolute  ago  aa 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  S3 

honest,  noble-minded  man  should  have  believed  womanly 
purity  to  be  a  fable  of  the  past. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  treasure  ?  "  asked  De 
Presles,  who  had  been  gloating  his  sensual  eyes  upon 
the  form  of  the  fair  girl  who  was  thus  in  his  power. 

"She  has  a  very  ordinary  face,"  said  one  of  the 
ladies  (?),who  prided  herself  upon  her  beauty. 

"An  exceedingly  common  person,  as  you  can  tell  by 
her  feet,"  said  another,  as  she  tried  to  display  her  own 
dainty  foot,  which  she  took  the  greatest  delight  in 
showing. 

"  Her  arms  and  hands  are  like  a  washerwoman's," 
was  the  kindly  remark  of  a  bold-looking  blonde,  who 
had  exposed  as  much  of  her  own  arms  as  possible. 

"  Chevalier,  your  opinion  ? "  asked  the  bankrupt 
nobleman,  who  liked  a  bit  of  sarcasm,  and  not  being 
able  to  say  it  himself,  knew  that  it  would  be  sure  to 
come  from  the  eccentric  De  Yaudrey. 

"It's  a  lovely  face;  distinguished  air;  with  the 
hands  and  feet  of  a  duchess,"  replied  the  chevalier,  with- 
out  taking  the  trouble  to  look  at  the  object  of  his 
criticism. 

"  But  you  have  not  seen — "  De  Presles  eagerly  began 
to  say. 

"  No,"  answered  De  Vaudrey,  coolly.  "  But  I  have 
heard  those  young  ladies." 

The  young  nobleman  who  had  provoked  this  re- 
mark was  delighted  ;  but  the  ladies  who  had  thus  freely 
given  their  opinions,  favored  him  with  a  glance  which 
lacked  not  the  will  to  wither  and  blast  the  instigator  of 
this  reflection  upon  their  remarks. 

"  Isn't  she  going  to  wake  up?  "  asked  one,  in  order  to 
cover  her  confusion. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  marquis,  as  he  took  a  small,  deli- 
cately chased  silver  Bask  from  his  pocket.  "A  fevf 


64  THE  TWO  OKPHANS. 

drops  of  this  on  the  handkerchief  will  be  sufficient  to 
revive  her." 

The  marquis  poured  a  few  drops  of  the  liquid  upon 
the  priceless  lace  handkerchief  which  he  held  in  his 
hand,  and  was  about  to  apply  it,  when  the  desire  tc 
heighten  the  effect  caused  him  to  stop. 

"  What  will  she  say  when  she  comes  to  her  senses?  " 
he  asked,  much  as  though  he  were  speculating  upon  the 
probable  actions  of  some  strange  animal,  rather  than  a 
weak,  defenseless  girl. 

The  young  bankrupt  nobleman  looked  at  the  cheva- 
lier, as  if  hoping  that  he  would  answer  that  question, 
and  he  was  not  disappointed. 

"  What  will  she  say  when  she  comes  to  her  senses  ?  " 
repeated  De  Vaudrey,  as  though  it  was  a  useless  ques- 
tion, the  answer  of  which  every  one  knew.  "  As  though 
we  did  not  know  by  heart  the  everlasting  phrases  of 
these  willingly  abducted  maidens.  When  the  proper 
moment  arrives  she  will  wake  up  and  go  through  it  all." 

Bursting  into  a  flood  of  imaginary  tears,  the  chevalier 
proceeded  to  give  an  imitation  of  the  kind  of  cries  in- 
dulged in  by  maidens  who,  as  he  said,  had  been  abducted 
by  their  own  wishes. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  he  continued,  in  a  crying  voice. 
"  Why  have  you  brought  me  here  ?  What  is  it  you 
wish  ?  Great  Heavens — ah  !  my  mother !  " 

Then  resuming  his  natural  tone,  he  added  : 

"  Then  by  slow  degrees  this  profound  and  virtuous 
despair,  which  commenced  in  a  torrent  of  tears,  will  be 
drowned  in — a  flood  of  champagne." 

All  present  joined  in  a  hearty  laugh  at  De  Vaudrey's 
imitation  of  what  they  themselves  had  seen  many 
times. 

"  Let  us  see  whether  the  chevalier  has  remembered 
the  exact  words,"  said  the  young  lady  who  had  expressed 


THB  TWO  ORPHANS.  55 

Buch   an  ardent  wish  to  see  the  chevalier.     "Let  me 
wake  her,  Marquis." 

De  Presles  gave  her  the  handkerchief  which  he  had 
saturated  with  the  liquid,  and  she  proceeded  to  try  its 
effects  upon  the  unconscious  Henrietta. 

All  present,  except  De  Vaudrey,  gathered  around  to 
enjoy  the  confusion  of  the  Norman  beauty,  when  she 
should  awake  to  find  herself  in  the  midst  of  the  gay 
party,  and  the  young  lady  who  had  received  the  hand- 
kerchief  from  the  marquis  applied  the  restorative. 

Henriette  had  inhaled  the  pungent  odor  but  a  mo- 
ment, when  she  showed  signs  of  returning  conscious- 
ness. 

"  Look  1  her  eyes  open,"  exclaimed  the  one  who  was 
thus  bringing  her  to  a  sense  of  ner  misery. 

Henriette  opened  her  eyes  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way,  like 
one  fwho,  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  is  suddenly  ex 
posed  to  the  blinding  gaslight. 

She  rose  to  a  sitting  posture  mechanically,  and  sur- 
veyed those  around  her.  For  some  moments  she  did 
not  seem  to  understand  where  she  was,  or  what  had 
happened. 

"  Am  I  mad  ?  "  she  asked  in  amazement,  at  the  view 
which  met  her  gaze.  "  Do  I  dream  ?  "  and  clasping  her 
hands  to  her  head,  she  endeavored  to  recall  the  events 
which  had  passed. 

"  Chevalier,  that  is  not  exactly  the  old  way,"  said  thy 
young  lady  who  had  awakened  Henriette,  to  De  Vaudrey. 

"  No,  that  is  singular,"  said  the  chevalier  with  his 
habitual  sneer.  "  It  is  rather  an  improvement." 

By  degrees  the  abducted  girl  remembered  what  had 
happened,  and  almost  in  a  flash  she  understood  where 
she  was. 

Springing  suddenly  to  her  feet,  she  confronted  the 
marquis. 


56  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "  has  this  outrage  been  commit 
ted  bj  your  orders  ?  Is  this  your  house  ?  " 

With  a  thin  smile  upon  his  simpering  lips,  the  mar- 
quis approached  the  now  thoroughly  enraged  girl. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  I  see  you  do  me  the  honor  to 
recognize  me,"  he  said,  bowing  low,  and  as  it  seemed  to 
the  poor  girl,  in  mockery  ;  "  it  was  I  who " 

"  Not  another  word,  sir,"  said  Henriette,  firmly,  and 
at  the  same  time  as  though  she  believed  her  wishes 
would  be  obeyed.  "  I  wish  to  return  this  very  instant 
to  the  place  where  my  sister  awaits  me.  Come,  sir,  at 
once  give  your  servants  orders  to  take  me  back/' 

De  Presles  made  no  movement  toward  giving  the 
necessary  orders,  and  Henriette  continued,  in  a  tone  of 
command : 

"  You  must — do  you  hear  me,  sir?  you  shall  I  "  and 
from  tones  of  command  her  voice  unconsciously  sunk 
into  a  plaint,  that  was  at  once  thrilling  and  pitiful. 

It  would  require  something  more  than  the  tone  of  the 
voice,  touching  as  it  was,  to  move  the  marquis  from  bis 
purpose ;  and  with  his  courtly  grace,  which  seemed  in 
the  present  case  a  mockery,  he  said  to  Henriette  : 

"  Mademoiselle,  after  all  the  trouble  we  have  taken  to 
bring  you  here,  you  scarcely  suppose  we  will  let  you  go 
so  soon  I " 

For  a  moment  Henriette  regarded  him  earnestly,  while 
the  tears,  unbidden,  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  see  the  horrible  trap  you  have  laid  for  me ;  but  vile 
as  you  are,  you  can  scarcely  understand  the  extent  of 
your  own  villainy,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  which  she  vainly 
tried  to  render  firm.  "  You  have  separated  me  from  my 
poor  child,  whose  only  help  in  life  I  am,  whose  misfor- 
tune commands  the  respect  of  criminals,  even  worse  than 
yourself  She  is  dependent  on  me  alone;  without  me 
•be  can  ijot  take  a  single  step,  for  she  is  blind  1 "  and  the 


THE  TWO  OEPHANS.  57 

wail  of  utter  desolation  which  accompanied  these  worda 
•would  have  touched  the  heart  of  a  savage. 

"Blind  I"  they  exclaimed,  as  the  word?  arrested  the 
merry  laugh  and  broad  jest,  while  the  females  expressed 
in  their  faces  the  compassion  they  now  began  to  feel  foi 
the  poor  girl. 

"  Yes,  blind  and  alone  I  "  continued  Henriette,  now  so 
carried  away  by  the  intensity  of  her  feelings  that  her 
voice  resembled  more  the  wail  of  a  lost  soul  than  any- 
thing human.  "  Alone  in  Paris,  without  money,  without 
help,  wandering  through  the  streets,  sightless,  homeless, 
wild  with  despair  1 " 

The  picture  which  her  mind  had  conjured  up  was  too 
much  for  Henriette ;  she  could  control  herself  nc  longer, 
and  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  What  will  become  of  her  ?  "  she  sobbed,  half  to  her- 
self, and  with  the  question  came  again  the  maddening 
thought  that  she  was  powerless  to  assist  her,  and  she 
turned  again  to  the  almost  stupefied  revelers. 

"  She  is  blind  1 "  repeated  Henriette,  with  vehemence. 
"Gentlemen,  do  you  hear  me?  She  is  blind  !  " 

"  Oh,  this  is  too  horrible  I"  exclaimed  the  Chevalier  de 
Vaudrey,  who,  still  seated  by  the  table,  was  greatly 
moved  by  Henriette's  words  of  despair  and  entreaty. 

The  marquis  read  from  the  faces  of  his  guests  that 
their  sympathies  were  going  out  toward  his  victim,  and 
as  far  as  his  small  soul  would  permit  he  became 
generous. 

"  Oh,  well,  compose  yourself,  mademoiselle,"  he  said, 
in  a  studied  voice.  "  I  will  give  orders  to  have  search 
made  for  her.  My  people  will  find  her  and  bring  her 
here." 

"Bring  her  herel"  exclaimed  Henriette,  while  all  th« 
anger  of  her  gentle  nature  was  aroused  by  the  insulting 
proposal.  "  She  in  this  house  ?  never  I "  Then  clasping 


58  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

her  hands,  she  asked,  piteously  :  ';  Is  this  the  only  answer 
you  have  to  my  prayer  ?  " 

The  poor  girl  saw  no  signs  of  relenting  on  the  cold, 
hard  face  before  her,  and  with  all  the  dignity  and  pas- 
sion of  a  pure  woman  who  is  insulted,  she  turned  for  a 
last  appeal  to  those  around  her. 

"  Is  there  no  one  here,"  she  asked,  "  who  dares  to  raise 
a  voice  against  this  man  ?  " 

"  You  are  mistaken,  mademoiselle,"  said  De  Presles,  in 
a  voice  which  he  vainly  endeavored  to  make  dignified. 
"  We  are  all  noblemen  and  gentlemen." 

The  utter  hollowness  of  these  terms,  as  used  by  the 
marquis,  in  comparison  with  his  present  mode  of  action, 
aroused  all  of  the  chevalier's  scorn  and  contempt. 

He  dashed  his  glass,  which  he  was  just  raising  to  his 
lips,  to  the  ground,  and  arose  to  his  feet. 

"  Then  among  all  these  noblemen  and  gentlemen," 
once  more  appealed  Henriette,  "  is  there  not  one  man  of 
honor  ?  " 

"  There  is,  mademoiselle,"  exclaimed  De  Vaudrey,  go- 
ing toward  her  with  an  angry  flush  upon  his  face,  caused 
by  De  Presles'  brutal  conduct.  "  Take  my  hand  ;  we 
will  leave  this  place." 

"Oh,  thank  you — thank  you,  monsieur,  a  thousand 
thanks  I "  exclaimed  Henriette,  as  she  took  the  proffered 
hand  and  grasped  it  fervently,  as  a  drowning  man  would 
the  friendly  rope  thrown  to  save  him. 

The  marquis  was  so  astonished  by  De  Vaudrey's  in- 
terference, that  for  a  moment  he  was  unable  to  offer  any 
objection  to  this  answer  to  his  victim's  prayer,  and  the 
chevalier  had  conducted  Henriette  nearly  to  the  garden 
entrance  before  De  Presles  recovered  from  his  stupor. 

He  rushed  in  front  of  the  two,  and  barred  their  exit. 

"  Excuse  me,  Chevalier,  this  is  my  house,"  he  said,  in 
*  voice  hoarse  with  rage,  "  I  do  not  permit——" 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  59 

"Gire  me  room,  sir,"  said  De  Vaudrey,  in  a  haughty 
voice. 

"  I  will  not  allow  this  insult.  Do  you  hear?  "  he  ex* 
Claimed,  as  the  loud  chimes  of  a  clock  proclaimed  the 
hour  of  midnight.  "  After  twelve  o'clock  no  one  ever 
leaves  this  house." 

"  Then  we  shall  be  the  first  to  do  so,"  answered  De 
Vaudrey,  in  a  cool  tone.  "  Stand  aside,  sir." 

"Do  you  know,  Chevalier,"  said  the  marquis,  white 
and  trembling  with  rage,  "that  you  speak  to  me  as 
though  I  were  your  lackey." 

"  I  would  not  speak  to  a  lackey  who  acted  as  you  do," 
replied  the  chevalier,  in  a  contemptuous  tone,  "  I  wonld 
cane  him." 

"  Enough,  monsieur ;  you  are  more  than  insolent  1 " 
exclaimed  De  Presles,  drawing  his  sword  aud  standing 
on  the  defensive.  "  Attempt  to  pass  me " 

"  I  certainly  shall,"  interrupted  De  Vaudrey,  "  and  this 
young  lady  with  me." 

Henriette  clung  to  the  arm  of  her  protector  in  affright, 
while  the  other  occupants  of  the  garden  gathered  around 
the  two  men,  and  vainly  attempted  to  quell  the  impend- 
ing duel. 

"  Stand  back,  gentlemen,"  commanded  the  marquis,  in 
a  rough  voice.  "After  such  an  insult,  there  is  but  one 
course ! "  and  stepping  into  a  cleared  space  at  the  back 
of  the  garden,  he  awaited  the  chevalier. 

Pale  with  terror,  Henriette  saw  these  preparations ; 
but  she  could  only  clasp  her  hands,  and  with  a  whispered 
prayer  to  Him  who  said,  "Thou  shalt  not  kill,"  breath- 
lessly awaited  the  result  of  the  duel. 

Both  men  were  experienced  swordsmen  ;  but  from  the 
first  De  Vaudrey  had  the  advantage,  owing  to  his  cool- 
ness, and  he  contented  himself  with  parrying  the  wild 
thrusts  of  the  marquis. 


flfl  THE   TWO   ORPHANS. 

At  length  a  lunge  more  careless  than  the' others  gavo 
the  chevalier  the  opportunity  he  awaited,  and  with  a 
quick,  rapid  thrust,  he  ran  his  sword  through  the  body 
of  his  antagonist. 

The  marquis  reeled  for  a  moment  as  the  sword  was 
withdrawn,  and  then  with  a  low  groan  sunk  into  the 
arms  that  were  outstretched  to  receive  him. 

Without  deigning  to  cast  a  look  upon  his  fallen  foe, 
De  Vaudrey  raised  his  hat  with  courtly  grace,  and  offered 
his  hand  to  Henriette,  who  was  almost  bewildered  by 
the  rapidity  with  which  the  combat  had  been  finished. 

Never  before  had  she  seen  a  human  being  stricken 
down  by  a  violent  death,  and  she  could  not  refrain  from 
casting  a  compassionate  look  upon  the  body  of  the 
young  man  who  had  so  lately  been  her  worst  enemy,  but 
whose  life  blood  was  now  slowly  welling  out  from  the 
narrow  wound  in  the  chest,  and  dropping  upon  the 
graveled  walks. 

De  Vaudrey  took  the  girl's  hand  kindl}  in  his  own, 
and  saying,  "  Come,  mademoiselle,  we  are  now  free  to 
go,"  led  her  out  of  the  vile  place  from  which  she  had 
been  released  only  by  the  interposition  of  death. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  BLIND  GIRL'S  SUFFERINGS. 

THE  garret  into  which  La  Frochard's  cruelty  and  love 
for  gain  had  consigned  Louise,  was  a  place  to  make  even 
the  stoutest  heart  quail. 

Imagine  a  low,  narrow  room,  reeking  with  odors  from 
decaying  wood  and  rags,  and  damp  from  the  mists  which 
arose  from  the  Seine,  and  penetrating  every  crack  and 
crevice,  causing  the  unhappy  inmate  to  shiver  with 
dread,  as  if  struck  by  a  blast  from  a  charuel  house. 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  61 

The  blind  girl's  sufferings  were  fearful.  For  a  mo- 
ment all  would  be  quiet  as  the  tomb,  and  then,  start- 
led  by  some  unusual  noise,  the  rats  which  infested  the 
dismal  place  would  scamper  from  their  hiding-places, 
causing  Louise  to  shrink  with  fear  from  the  almost  un 
earthly  noise  of  which  she  knew  not  the  meaning. 

Her  imagination,  vivid  as  it  is  in  the  blind,  peopled 
the  fearful  place  with  terrors  which  were  intensified  by 
being  unseen, 

During  the  hours  of  the  day,  and  yet  more  dreary 
ones  of  the  night,  poor  Louise  crouched  close  to  the 
low  roof,  trembling  at  every  new  noise  caused  by  the 
wind  or  waves,  and  even  praying  that  she  might  be 
visited  by  her  brutal  captors ;  for  much  as  she  dreaded 
them,  the  sound  of  a  human  voice  would  be  a  relief  to 
her  overtaxed  nerves. 

After  what  seemed  to  her  many  days,  but  was  in 
reality  little  more  than  twenty -four  hours,  Louise  heard 
the  sound  of  heavy  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  and  imme- 
diately after,  the  door  was  unlocked,  and  a  man  entered. 

The  voice  which  she  heard  told  her  plainly  that  it  was 
Jacques  who  had  visited  her,  and  much  as  she  feared 
him,  she  gladly  welcomed  his  coming. 

Instinctively,  she  knew  that  he  was  gazing  upon  her, 
and  before  she  spoke,  she  sunk  upon  her  knees  before 
him  in  an  attitude  of  supplication. 

"  If  you  have  any  pity  in  your  heart — if  you  evef 
knew  what  it  is  to  suffer — take  me  from  this  fearful 
place." 

The  tears  which  rolled  down  her  pale  cheeks  showed 
how  intense  was  her  agony ;  but  it  had  no  effect  upon 
the  wretch  before  her. 

A  coarse,  brutal  laugh  was  the  only  answer  to  her 
pleadings,  and  she  sunk  upon  the  floor  almost  lifeless. 

Villain  as  he  was,  Jacques  saw  that  their  victim  could 


62  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

not  survive  her  imprisonment  many  hours  longer ;  for 
even  as  it  was,  her  day  of  terror  had  changed  the  rosy- 
cheeked  Normandy  girl  as  much  as  would  many  day» 
of  severe  sickness. 

The  pallid  cheeks,  the  deep,  dark  circles  under  the 
eyes,  and  the  marks  of  suffering  that  were  to  be  read  in 
every  feature  of  her  delicate  face,  told  how  severe  had 
been  her  anguish. 

"  You  are  better  fitted  for  your  business  now  than  you 
were  before  you  came  here,"  said  Jacques,  as  he  exulted 
over  the  misery,  and  delighted  in  the  pain  he  had  been 
the  means  of  causing. 

"  Oh,  take  me  away — take  me  away  1  I  will  do  as 
you  tell  me  I "  she  pleaded. 

"Will  you  beg?" 

«  Yes— yes  1 " 

"  Well,  come  along  then,"  and  he  grasped  her  by  the 
arm,  which  was  protected  only  by  a  thin  covering  of 
coarse  cotton,  with  a  force  that  caused  her  to  scream 
with  pain. 

"Devilish  tender,  ain't  you?"  he  asked,  with  a 
chuckle,  as  he  brutally  dragged  her  toward  the  doorway. 

"  Well,  is  she  willing  to  help  her  friends  now  ?  "  asked 
the  shrill  tones  of  Mother  Frochard's  voice,  as  Louise 
and  Jacques  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  I  guess  she'll  behave  herself  now,"  laughed  Jacques, 
as  he  forced  the  blind  girl  to  descend  the  stairs  without 
any  assistance  from  him. 

"  Oh,  very  well — very  well — my  fine  lady,"  said  the 
old  woman,  as  she  led  Louise  to  a  seat  near  the  table. 
"  If  you  have  been  there  long  enough,  I  suppose  you'd 
like  to  have  something  to  eat,  you  ungrateful  hussy  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  hungry,  madame,"  faltered  Louise. 

"Well,  it's  a  good  thing,"  snarled  the  old  woman, 
*  jou'll  know  how  to  appreciate  what  you  get  after  this." 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  63 

Jacques,  seated  astride  of  the  chair,  with  hi§  arms 
resting  on  the  back,  enjoyed  the  scene  with  evident  zest, 
while  Louise  listened  anxiously  for  Pierre's  sympathizing 
voice. 

Let  us  leave  this  scene  for  a  while,  and  follow  Hen- 
riette,  while  she  accompanies  her  deliverer  from  the 
beautiful,  but  vile  garden  of  Bel -Air. 

They  had  reached  the  street  before  Henriette  ventured 
to  speak  to  the  chevalier  of  her  gratitude  for  the  assist- 
ance he  had  rendered  her.  Then,  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  emotion,  she  thanked  him  for  his  interference,  and 
begged  him  to  show  her  the  way  to  the  place  where  she 
had  been  robbed  of  her  sister. 

The  distance  was  very  great,  and  during  the  walk  the 
Chevalier  De  Vaudrey  learned  all  of  the  history  of  the 
beautiful  girl  whom  he  had  rescued  from  such  a  fearful 
fate  ;  but  in  reply  to  the  probable  fate  of  her  sister,  he 
could  not  conscientiously  lighten  her  heart. 

"  But  I  shall  find  her,  shall  I  not,  monsieur  ?  "  asked 
Henriette,  looking  up  into  his  face  with  an  imploring 
gaze. 

For  a  moment  De  Vaudrey  thought  he  would  tell  her 
how  little  chance  there  was  for  finding  a  lost  girl  imme- 
diately, unless  some  kind,  honest  people  had  taken  com- 
passion on  her,  and  even  then  it  would  require  several 
days.  But  as  he  looked  into  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  saw 
there  the  hope  and  longing  that  was  mirrored  in  them, 
he  could  not  speak  those  words  which  would  plunge  her 
into  despair. 

Therefore  he  assumed  a  hopeful  air,  which  was  very 
far  from  being  sincere,  and  replied : 

"  We  shall  find  your  sister,  mademoiselle,  but  you 
must  not  get  discouraged  if  it  takes  several  days,  for  we 
can  hope  to  find  no  clew  to  where  she  lias  gone." 

Henriette  was  not  satisfied  with  the  answer,  but  she 


34  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

said  nothing,  and  in  a  few  moments  more  they  had 
reached  the  Normandy  coach  office. 

The  most  persistent  inquiry  revealed  nothing  relative 
to  Louise's  whereabouts.  No  one  had  seen  her  except 
when  she  was  with  her  sister,  and  it  was  with  a  heavy 
and  sorrowful  heart  that  Henriette  was  forced  to  relin* 
quish  the  search  until  the  morrow. 

The  chevalier  conducted  her  to  a  boarding-house, 
where,  after  a  brief  recital  of  Henriette's  history,  she 
was  allowed  to  remain. 

Need  we  recount  the  many  long  and  fruitless  searches 
of  that  faithful  sister  for  the  blind  orphan  ?  Can  the 
reader  not  guess  that,  charmed  by  the  beauty  of  face  and 
mind  of  the  beautiful  Henriette,  the  Chevalier  de  Vaud- 
rey  was  ready  to  fling  away  all  dreams  of  wealth  and 
kingly  favor,  and  entreat  the  young  girl  to  become  hia 
wife? 

And  why  should  we  describe  all  of  Louise's  sufferings 
for  three  months  ?  They  were  surely  such  as  would  melt 
the  heart  of  a  stone  to  pity,  and  yet  her  cruel  captors 
showed  no  mercy. 

Therefore  we  will  pass  over  three  months,  during 
which  each  day,  to  both  the  sorrowing  orphans,  brought 
the  same  sad  story  of  misery  and  despair,  and  in  our 
oext  chapter  present  a  new  scene  to  the  reader. 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE  MINISTER  OF  POLICE. 

THE  newly  appointed  minister  of  police  was  the 
Count  de  Linieres,  as  we  heard  at  the  garden  of  Bel-Air. 

He  was  the  uncle,  and  until  that  young  gentleman  at- 
tained his  majority,  the  guardian  of  the  Chevalier  Mau- 
rice de  Vaudrejr. 


THE   TWO   ORPHANS  65 

Count  de  Linieres  was  of  a  very  old  and  proud  family, 
but  the  hope  of  distinction  induced  him  to  accept  of  the 
high  office  tendered  him  by  the  king,  who  honored  him 
for  his  sterling  worth. 

It  is  shortly  after  his  accession  to  office,  and  bsfore  he 
is  well  acquainted  with  the  intricate  workings  of  the 
vast  and  complicated  body  over  which  he  is  the 
acknowledged  head,  that  we  present  him  to  our  readers. 

A  tall,  portly  old  gentleman  of  some  sixty  years  of 
age  is  he,  and  one  who  as  a  friend  would  be  true,  and  as 
an  enemy,  implacable. 

On  this  particular  afternoon  he  has  just  dismissed 
several  of  his  subordinates,  and  is  now  giving  some  nec- 
essary instruction  to  the  chief  clerk. 

"I  desire,"  said  the  count,  "that  there  should  be  no 
relaxation  in  the  severity  of  the  police  toward  gambling 
dens,  low  drinking  places,  and  other  haunts  of  crime. 
Professional  beggars,  too,  must  be  driven  from  the 
streets. ' ' 

These  orders  were  delivered  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who, 
having  weighed  what  he  is  about  to  say,  expects  to  be 
obeyed. 

"Their  number  increases  daily,"  replied  the  clerk, 
with  a  gesture  expressive  of  humility  and  deference. 

' '  The  king  is  desirous  that  a  stop  be  put  to  the  scan- 
dals that  disgraced  the  administration  of  the  police 
during  the  preceding  reign,"  continued  De  Linieres, 
speaking  slowly.  "  Night  brawls  went  unpunished,  and 
abductions,  bringing  shame  and  disgrace  upon  many 
honest  families,  were  of  common  occurrence.  And 
apropos  of  that  subject,  I  have  here  a  report  which 
needs  an  explanation.  How  is  it  possible  that  a  young 
girl  could  be  abducted  in  the  open  streets  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and  there  should  be  no  one  to  oppose 
snrh  an  outrage?  " 


66  THE  TW«  ORPHANS. 

"  There  are  scoundrels  in  Paris  audacious  and  dexter- 
ous  enough  to  do  anything,"  replied  the  clerk,  as  if 
that  were  sufficient  excuse  for  the  shortcomings  of  the 
detectives. 

"  Where  were  the  police  ?  "  asked  the  count,  sternly 

"  They  have  discovered  the  accomplices  of  the  chiei 
actor,"  said  the  clerk,  trying  to  evade  an  answer  to  the 
chief's  very  pertinent  inquiry,  "  and  compelled  them  to 
confess." 

"  Three  months  have  elapsed  since  that  most  daring 
outrage,  and  the  really  guilty  ones,  the  instigators  of  the 
crime,  have  not  been  punished,"  said  De  Linieres,  with 
a  look  of  reproach  at  his  subordinate. 

"  That's  due,  my  lord,  to  certain  circumstances,"  was 
the  answer,  or  perhaps,  we  should  say  excuse. 

"  What  circumstances  ?  "  said  the  count,  in  evident 
surprise  that  any  circumstances  should  prevent  the 
punishment  of  a  crime  where  the  perpetrators  had  been 
discovered.  "  To  whom  does  this  chateau  of  Bel- Air 
belong?" 

"  To  the  Marquis  de  Presles,"  answered  the  clerk. 

"  De  Presles  I "  repeated  the  count.  "  An  ancient  and 
illustrious  family,  whose  last  scion  would  not  hesitate  to 
stake  all  its  glories  on  the  cast  of  a  die,  or  the  thrust  of 
a  sword  in  a  drunken  brawl.  But  the  girl — after  the 
duel,  what  became  of  her. 

"She  was  carried  off — by — by  the  antagonist  of  the 
marquis,"  was  the  hesitating  answer  that  aroused  the 
count's  suspicions  at  once,  and  he  asked,  quickly,  while 
he  eyed  the  clerk  with  distrust : 

"  The  name  of  the  marquis's  opponent.    What  is  it  ?  " 

"  The  Chevalier  Maurice  de  Vaudrey,"  replied  the 
clerk,  with  reluctance. 

"  My  nephew  I "  replied  the  olu  gentleman,  in  sur- 
prise, while  an  expression  of  pain  passed  over  his 


THE  TWO   OEPHANg.  $7 

at  the  thought  that  his  nephew,  whom  he  loved  so 
dearly,  and  whom  he  had  supposed  to  be  the  soul  of 
honor,  should  be  engaged  in  what  he  supposed  to  be  a 
drunken  brawl. 

After  a  moment's  reflection  he  turned  to  the  old  clerk, 
who  was  regarding  his  chief  with  a  look  of  sorrow,  and 
said,  in  a  voice  that  was  singularly  soft  and  sweet  for  a 
man: 

"  I  appreciate  the  sentiment  that  caused  you  to  hesi- 
tate." 

The  clerk  bowed  low,  and  was  turning  away,  when 
the  count  stopped  him. 

"  For  the  future,  sir,  remember  that  justice  is  no  re- 
specter of  persons." 

The  chiefs  voice  was  now  as  harsh  and  commanding 
as  it  was  before  low  and  soft. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  it  was  the  Chevalier  de  Vau- 
drey?" 

M  Quite  sure.  We  have  a  list  of  all  who  were  present 
— both  ladies  and  gentlemen." 

"  These  gentlemen,"  said  De  Linieres,  in  an  angry 
tone,  "  must  be  made  to  understand  that  such  orgies 
will  be  tolerated  no  longer.  It  is  not  enough  to  bear  a 
noble  name,  it  must  be  borne  worthily ;  and  these  ladies 
must  choose  between  Salpetriere  and  exile." 

"Do  you  wish,  my  lord,  that  that  affair  should  be 
entered  in  the  secret  archives  of  the  police  ?  " 

"  The  secret  archives  of  the  police,"  asked  the  count 
in  great  surprise  that  there  should  be  anything  of  the 
kind.  "  Do  such  records  really  exist  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  lord,"  said  the  clerk,  wondering  not  a 
little  at  the  ignorance  of  his  chief.  "  The  secret  and 
complete  history  of  every  noble  family  in  France  may 
be  found  there.  You  have  but  to  mention  a  name,  and 


88  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

in  five  minutes,  the  desired  volume  will  be  in  your 
hands." 

The  count  remained  in  deep  thought  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

There  had  been  in  his  house,  as  in  every  man's,  8 
skeleton  in  the  closet,  and  that  skeleton  was  some  secret 
sorrow  that  prayed  upon  his  wife,  who  was  a  De  Vau- 
drey. 

If  the  old  clerk's  words  were  true,  then  here  was  an 
opportunity  for  him  to  discover  what  he  had  so  long 
vainly  sought. 

Here  he  could,  without  humbling  himself  to  any  one, 
penetrate  that  mystery  in  his  wife's  life  which  she  had 
so  long  and  successfully  concealed. 

But  it  must  be  done  at  the  expense  of  his  honor,  and 
at  the  moment  there  was  a  great  struggle  going  on  in  his 
mind. 

Should  he  avail  himself  of  this  information  which 
his  position  entitled  him  to  possess,  but  which  his  man- 
hood revolted  at? 

At  last  it  was  decided  in  his  mind.  He  would  have 
the  volume  completed,  and  at  some  future  time,  when 
he  should  be  more  accustomed  to  the  idea,  he  would  re* 
fer  to  it. 

"  If  the  history  of  the  house  of  De  Vaudrey  is  there, 
let  that  history  be  completed,"  he  said  quickly,  as  if 
afraid  to  linger  near  the  temptation  any  longer. 

The  clerk  bowed  low,  and  departed  upon  his  mission, 
and  at  the  same  time  he  went  out,  Picard,  the  magnifi- 
cent, who  allowed  himself  to  be  called  valet  to  the 
Chevalier  De  Vaudrey,  entered. 

"  Ah,  Picard,  I  am  glad  that  you  have  come.  I  wish 
to  speak  to  you  about  your  master.  How  is  he  behav- 
ing himself?  " 

Here  was  a  chance  for  Picard  which  he  was  not  dig- 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  69 

posed  to  let  slip  him,  and  after  his  extravagant  bows,  he 
answered  in  his  peculiar  voice : 

"  With  all  due  respect,  my  lord,  his  conduct  is  scan- 
dalous,  perfectly  scandalous,  and  unbecoming  a  nobleman 
of  his  rank." 

Picard  looked  for  some  expression  of  surprise  upon 
his  listener's  face,  and  failing  to  see  it  there,  continued, 
in  an  injured  tone,  as  if  his  master's  behavior  was  a  re- 
flection upon  him  as  a  servant: 

"  Formerly  he  had  a  few  gentlemen  associates,  with 
whom  he  occasionally  amused  himself,"  said  Picard, 
slowly,  "  and  saw  life,  thereby  giving  me  some  oppor- 
tunities. Alas !  it  is  different  now.  For  the  last  three 
months  he  has  changed  entirely.  Indeed,  my  lord,  my 
life  has  become  so  monotonous,  that  a  man  of  spirit  like 
myself  cannot  stand  it  any  longer." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  wish  to  leave  his  serv- 
ice ? "  asked  the  minister,  with  a  preoccupied  look 
upon  his  face. 

"Yes,  my  lord  I"  exclaimed  Picard,  eagerly.  "The 
chevalier,  your  nephew,  has  principles  which  I  can  no 
longer  accept.  They  clash  with  all  my  opinions,  and 
although  the  chevalier  thinks  proper  to  compromise  hip 
nobility,  I  can  not  compromise  my  livery,"  and  a  look 
of  virtuous  indignation  was  upon  Picard's  round  face, 
giving  it  a  very  comical  appearance. 

"  Very  well,"  said  De  Linieres,  "  I  will  take  you  back 
into  my  service  " 

"  You  will !  "  exclaimed  Picard,  in  delight,  and  then 
giving  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  straightening  himself  up  &a 
far  as  his  diminutive  stature  would  permit,  he  added . 
"  Ah,  my  lord,  you  have  relieved  me,  and  I  resume  my 
personal  dignity." 

"  I  will  do  as  I  have  said,  on  one  condition,"  added 
^be  count,  and  at  this,  Picard's  face  lengthened  wonder- 


TO  THE  TWO  OEPHAN8. 

fully.  "I  wish  you  to  remain  for  a  time  with  my 
nephew.  It  is  important  that  I  should  know  his  move- 
ments. I  could  employ  the  police,  but  I  have  already 
learned  too  much  from  them,  and  through  you  who  art 
attached  to  him,  I  desire  to  know  the  rest." 

"The  rest?  "  echoed  Picard,  in  amazement.  "What 
has  he  been  doing  ?  "  and  now  his  face  brightened  as  he 
thought  himself  upon  the  verge  of  discovery  of  an  esca- 
pade of  his  master's,  which  was  all  the  faithful  valet 
hungered  for. 

"They  know  that  after  the  duel " 

"  The  duel  1  What  duel  ?  "  interrupted  Picard,  for- 
getting, in  his  eagerness  to  know  all,  the  respect  due  the 
minister  of  police. 

"  Do  you  pretend  not  to  know  that  he  killed  the  Mar- 
quis De  Presles  in  a  duel  about  a  woman  ?  "  asked  the 
count,  while  he  regarded  the  valet  with  a  piercing  gaze. 

"  He  fought  a  duel,  and  dangerously  wounded  his  an- 
tagonist, and  on  account  of  a  woman  I  "  exclaimed  Picard, 
in  an  ecstasy  of  delight  that  his  master  should  be  con- 
cerned in  such  affairs,  which  Picard  considered  the  only 
proper  thing  for  a  nobleman  to  do.  "  Oh,  the  sly  dog  J 
and  I  wanted  to  leave  him  I " 

"  No— no !  not  yet,"  said  the  count,  quickly,  catching 
the  last  of  the  valet's  remark,  without  hearing  the  first. 
"  I  desire  that  you  remain  with  him,  and  discover  where 
he  hides  himself." 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  exclaimed  Picard,  now  perfectly 
willing  to  remain  with  the  chevalier  any  length  of  time. 
"  I  thought  he  would  not  disgrace  the  blood  of  a  French 
nobleman.  Certainly,  I'll  find  out  this  saucy  little 
beauty  for  whom  he  neglects  all  his  friends,"  and  he  ad- 
ded, in  a  tone  of  a  connoisseur,  "of  course  she  must  be 
little  and  saucy,  with  »  jaunty,  piquant  air.  That's  tbt 
ityiellike." 


THE  TWO   OBPHAIT8.  71 

"Oh,  indeed  !  "  said  the  count,  in  surprise. 

"  Doubtless  he  has  done  everything  in  good  style," 
continued  Picard,  who  in  his  ecstasy  was  impervious  to 
everything  but  the  one  satisfactory  idea  that  now  en- 
grossed all  his  thoughts.  "  He  has  probably  taken  some 
elegant,  quiet  little  house,  the  rooms  hung  in  velvet,  and 
furnished  in  silk  and  laces,  with  everything  of  the  sort." 

"  Why,  at  that  rate  you  will  ruin  your  master,"  said 
the  count,  surprised  at  this  phase  of  Picard's  character, 
which  he  had  never  seen  before. 

"  If  she's  worth  the  trouble,  v/here's  the  harm  in  a 
little  ruin  ?  "  asked  the  valet,  innocently. 

How  much  longer  Picard  would  have  continued  to 
express  his  delight,  and  what  he  might  not  have  said 
to  further  surprise  the  count,  is  a  matter  of  conjec- 
ture, for  at  this  moment  the  Countess  de  Linieres  was 
announced,  and  the  count  at  once  dismissed  Picard,  with 
an  injunction  not  to  forget  his  orders. 

"I  will  obey  them,  rny  lord,"  said  the  valet,  as  he 
bowed  himself  out,  and  during  his  walk  to  his  master's 
house,  he  muttered,  to  the  infinite  delight  of  the  gamins 
who  heard  him,  "  Oh,  Master  Chevalier,  you  are  a  sly 
dog,  and  I  thought  you  a  saint." 

As  the  countess  entered,  her  husband  greeted  her  af- 
fectionately, and  conducted  her  to  a  seat. 

"I  was  about  to  come  to  you,"  said  the  count,  "but 
you  have  anticipated  me.  I  desire  to  speak  with  you  on 
the  subject  of  your  nephew,  the  Chevalier  de  Vaudrey, 
and  to  ask  you  to  prepare  him  for  the  marriage  which 
the  king " 

"  Wishes  to  impose  on  him,"  interrupted  the  countess, 
bitterly. 

"  Impose  on  him  ?  "  repeated  De  Linieres.  "  It  is  a 
magnificent  alliance,  which  will  complete  the  measure 


72  THE   TWO  ORPHANS. 

of  the  distinguished  honors  with  which  his  majesty 
deigns  to  favor  us." 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  the  chevalier  yet  ?  " 

"No;  but  I  am  expecting  him  every  moment,  and  I 
wished  to  talk  with  him  in  your  presence." 

As  if  this  conversation  had  some  influence  over  him, 
Be  Yaudrey  entered  at  this  moment. 

"  Ah,  Chevalier !  "  exclaimed  the  count.  "  I  am  glad 
to  see  you.  The  countess  and  myself  have  an  import- 
ant communication  to  make  to  you." 

De  Yaudrey  looked  at  his  uncle  in  surprise. 

"  My  dear  Maurice,"  said  the  count,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  "  the  king  did  me  the  honor  to  receive  me 
yesterday,  and  he  spoke  of  you." 

"  Of  me  ?  "  asked  De  Yaudrey,  in  surprise. 

"  He  takes  a  great  interest  in  you,"  continued  DeLin- 
ieres,  speaking  quickly,  and  in  a  forced  tone.  "He 
wishes  you  to  accept  a  position  at  court,  and  desires,  at 
the  same  time,  that  you  should  marry." 

As  the  count  said  this,  he  watched  De  Yaudrey's  face 
with  an  intentness  that  was  almost  painful.  He  ex- 
pected to  know  by  this  means  whether  the  stories  whicb 
appeared  to  be  so  well  authenticated  were  true,  and  he 
sincerely  hoped  that  he  might  be  able  to  believe  them 
the  fabrications  of  some  enemy. 

"  Marry  ?  "  asked  De  Yaudrey,  as  though  he  could  not 
believe  his  uncle  really  meant  what  he  said. 

The  countess  waited  as  anxiously  for  De  Yaudrey's 
answer  as  did  her  husband,  although  from  a  different 
reason.  She  loved  the  young  man  before  her,  and  his 
happiness  and  well-being  were  very  dear  to  her. 

"  My  dear  nephew,"  she  said,  kindly,  "  I  see  that  this 
news  surprises  you.  Yet  there  is  no  fear  that  the  king's 
choice  will  do  violence  to  your  feelings.  The  lady  whom 
his  majesty  has  chosen,  has  youth;  beauty,  and  fortune." 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  7$ 

"  In  proof  of  which  I  have  only  to  tell  you  that  his 
choice  is  Mademoiselle — "  the  count  attempted  to  saj, 
but  was  interrupted  by  the  chevalier. 

"Do  not  name  her,"  he  said,  excitedly. 

"  "Why  not  ?  "  asked  his  uncle,  in  astonishment, 

"Because  I  refuse  to  marry  I" 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  SECRET. 

THE  chevalier's  emphatic  refusal  to  marry  filled  hii 
\mcle  with  astonishment. 

That  any  one  in  his  right  mind  should  refuse  to  accept 
of  the  means  of  advancement  to  the  royal  favor,  when  it 
was  to  be  purchased  by  such  a  simple,  and  in  the  present 
case,  such  an  agreeable  means,  was  past  the  old  gentle- 
man's comprehension. 

It  required  some  little  time  for  him  to  understand  that 
his  nephew  had  rejected  the  king's  flattering  proposals, 
and  then  his  anger  began  to  get  the  better  of  his  surprise. 

The  Countess  de  Linieres,  with  a  woman's  ready  wit, 
understood  that  there  could  be  but  one  cause  for  such  a 
decided  refusal,  and  that  must  be  that  he  was  already  in 
love. 

The  chevalier  was  the  son  of  her  sister,  who  had  died 
several  years  previous  to  the  opening  of  our  story,  and 
for  that  reason,  as  well  as  his  own  noble  qualities,  she 
loved  him  as  she  would  had  he  been  her  own  son. 

Understanding  her  husband's  quick  and  variable  tem- 
per, the  countess  darted  a  warning  glance  at  De  Vau- 
drey,  which,  if  it  was  seen,  was  riot  heeded. 

"  Before  committing  yourself  irretrievably,  Chevalier 
de  Yaudrey,  reflect,"  said  the  count,  in  an  angry  tone. 
"  I  know  the  weakness  of  youth,  and  the  temptations  to 


T4  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

which  it  is  exposed.  I  also  know  that  within  certain 
limits  it  is  well  to  close  the  eyes  to  faults,  provided  they 
are  not  too  serious.  This  marriage  is  an  honor  which 
his  majesty  desires  to  confer  on  you,  and  when  the  king 
has  spoken " 

"I  will  go  to  the  king  !  "  interrupted  the  chevalier, 
and  speaking  with  great  rapidity  and  earnestness,  he 
added :  "  I  will  thank  him  for  his  goodness,  I  will  place 
my  services  at  his  disposal.  My  devotion,  my  life  are 
his,  but  my  affections  are  my  own,  and  I  wish  to  remain 
—free!"  " 

"  Free  I  "  exclaimed  the  count,  scornfully.  "  Free  to 
lead  a  life  of  dissipation  which  you  may  not  always  be 
able  to  hide  from  the  world." 

These  words  which  implied  so  much,  stung  the  noble- 
hearted  De  Yaudrey  more  than  any  words  of  anger  or 
reproach  could  have  done. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  my  life  to  hide,"  he  said,  proudly, 
but  impatiently,  "  nothing*  for  which  I  have  reason  to 
blush." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that,  Chevalier  ?  "  asked  the  count, 
in  a  tone  that  plainly  said  the  speaker  knew  differ- 
ently. Conscious  of  his  own  uprightness,  this  doubt 
cast  upon  his  word  was  more  than  the  chevalier  could 
bear,  and  he  advanced  toward  his  uncle  with  a  menac- 
ing air. 

"  Monsieur ! "  he  began,  boldly,  "  I  cannot " 

"  Maurice  !  my  husband !  "  exclaimed  the  countess,  aa 
she  stepped  between  the  two  men  to  prevent  those  words 
from  being  spoken  which  both  would  have  afterward 
deeply  regretted.  "  Defer  the  conversation  for  the  pres- 
ent. Permit  me  to  speak  to  Maurice." 

"  Very  well,"  said  De  Linieres,  sternly.  Then  turning 
to  the  chevalier,  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  he  had  never 
before  used  to  his  nephew:  "We  will  return  to  this 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  75 

another  time.  You  will  remember  that,  as  head  of 
the  family,  its  honor  is  confided  to  my  care,  and  I  will 
not  sufler  any  one  to  sully  it  with  a  stain." 

De  Vaudrey  had  nearly  lost  all  control  of  his  temper, 
wad  in  a  moment  the  outbreak  which  the  countess  was 
so  anxious  to  avoid  would  have  broken  forth,  had  not  the 
count,  without  giving  his  nephew  time  to  speak,  said, 
quickly : 

"  I  leave  you  with  the  countess,  and  I  hope  that  your 
respect  and  affection  for  her  will  cause  you  to  lend  more 
Weight  to  her  counsels  than  you  are  disposed  to  give  to 
mine." 

As  if  fearing  that  he  might  have  tried  the  young 
man's  temper  too  far,  or  that  he  did  not  wish  to  prolong 
a  useless  controversy,  the  count  left  the  room  as  he  fin- 
ished  the  sentence,  and  De  Vaudrey  was  alone  with  his 
aunt. 

The  countess  went  up  to  the  noble-looking  young  man, 
and  taking  his  hand  in  hers,  asked,  in  a  sweet,  winning 
voice : 

"  Who  is  this  woman  you  love  ?  What  obstacle  pre- 
vents the  avowal  of  your  passion  ?  If  it  is  only  a  mat- 
ter of  fortune,  take  mine ;  it  is  all  at  your  disposal,  and 
I  will  give  it  to  you  cheerfully." 

"Ah  I  where  shall  I  find  a  heart  like  yours?"  ex- 
claimed the  chevalier,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emo« 
tion.  "  You  have  divined  my  secret.  I  love  a  young 
girl  as  charming  as  she  is  pure.  I  love  her,  yet  my  lips 
have  never  sought  hers.  I  adore  her,  yet  I  have  never 
dared  to  whisper  my  passion." 

"  Her  name — her  family  ?  "  asked  the  countess,  eag- 
erly. 

"She  was  born  of  the  people,"  said  De  Vaudrey, 
proudly,  yet  tenderly.  "  She  is  »u  orphan,  and  lives  by 
the  labor  of  her  hands." 


76  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

The  countess,  who  had  never  for  a  moment  imagined 
•uch  an  answer  to  her  question,  was  surprised,  and  she 
ahowed  plainly  that  grief  was  mingled  with  her  sur- 
prise. 

"  And  you  would  make  such  a  woman  your  wife  ?  r 
she  asked,  reproachfully. 

"Do  not  judge  her  until  you  have  seen  her,"  entreated 
the  chevalier.  "  Consent  to  see  her,  and  then  advise 
me." 

And  the  young  man  took  the  countess's  hands  in  his, 
and  looked  imploringly  into  her  face. 

But  his  aunt  turned  away  from  him  with  a  gesture  of 
sorrow. 

"  In  such  a  marriage,"  she  said,  sadly,  "  there  can  be 
no  happiness  for  you,  and  for  her,  only  misery.  Believe 
me,  I  know  the  result  of  those  unequal  unions.  You 
must  renounce  her.  You  owe  obedience  to  jour  family 
and  to  your  king." 

As  the  countess  said  these  words,  which,  if  they 
were  obeyed,  would  doom  the  young  man  to  give  up 
all  that  the  world  held  for  him,  she  turned  wearily 
away,  and  sunk  into  a  chair,  as  if  the  advice  came 
only  from  the  echo  of  her  husband's  words,  and  not 
from  her  own  loving  heart. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  that  ?  "  asked  the  chevalier,  in  a 
tone  of  surprise.  "  You  who  have  suffered  so  much,  and 
have  been  a  victim  to  a  blind  obedience  which  has  sac- 
rificed  your  life,  and  made  you  miserable?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  exclaimed  the  countess, 
springing  from  her  chair  as  if  De  Vaudrey's  words  had 
struck  directly  to  her  heart,  and  their  passage  had  torn 
open  wounds  that  the  poor  woman  thought  no  one  save 
herself  and  the  good  God  knew  of.  "  Who  told  you 
this  ?  Who  has  torn  aside  the  veil  from  my  secret,  mid 


THE  TWO  ORPHJLNS.  77 

revealed  to  you  the  cause  of  the  anguish  I  have  suffered 
for  eighteen  long  years  ?  " 

The  chevalier  looked  sadly  upon  the  woman  he  had 
wounded  so  deeply  by  his  words. 

"  There  was  but  one  soul  in  the  world  tender  and  no- 
ble enough  to  appreciate  and  sustain  your  own  in  its 
trials,"  he  said,  in  a  gentle  voice,  that  seemed  to  carry 
a  balm  with  it.  "Your  dearly  beloved  sister — my 
mother.  In  her  last  moments  she  exacted  from  me 
the  promise  to  devote  myself  to  you  should  misfortune 
ever  come,  and  I  gladly  gave  my  word.' 

For  a  moment  the  countess  stood  aa  one  suddenly  de- 
prived of  speech,  and  then,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  speak- 
ing of  herself,  she  said : 

"  And  she  told  you  of  my  sufferings,  my  despair  ? 
Yes — yes,  you  speak  the  truth ;  my  life  has  been  one  of 
long  sacrifice  to  duty." 

And  resting  her  head  on  her  hands,  she  allowed  her 
thoughts  to  wander  through  all  the  dark  and  dreary  ave- 
nues of  the  past,  disturbing  memories  that  slept  only 
too  slightly,  and  awakening  sad  recollections  that  she 
had  struggled  to  bury,  but  which  were  ever  ready  to 
rise  up  against  her,  and  assert  their  right  to  inflict  sor- 
row with  all  the  keenness  of  old. 

"  I  was  young  and  mad,"  she  exclaimed,  as,  rising  to 
her  feet,  she  paced  the  long,  magnificently-furnished 
room  with  a  nervous  step,  while  her  rich  robes  trailed 
after  her,  rustling  as  if  in  mockery  of  her  grief.  "  I 
loved  and  was  loved,"  she  continued,  hastily,  much  as 
though  she  was  excusing  herself  to  the  young  man,  who 
gazed  in  pity  upon  her,  "  and  in  my  love  I  knew  no 
wrong.  I  consented  to  a  secret  marriage  with  a  man  be- 
neath me  in  rank." 

The  chevalier  attempted  to  speak.  He  wished  to 
check  the  tale  of  woe  and  sorrow  which  he  knew  she 


78  THE  TWO  ORPHANS, 

was  about  to  relate ;  but  she  heeded  him  not,  and  con. 
tiimed,  in  a  voice  which  told  of  the  anguish  in  her 
heart. 

"Our  secret  was  soon  discovered,"  she  said.  "They 
thought  him  my  lover,  and  killed  him  almost  under  my 
very  eyes,  and  I  became  a  mother." 

De  Vaudrey  could  not  restrain  the  tears  which  over- 
flowed his  eyes,  as  the  sorrowing  woman,  in  a  voice 
doubly  touching  by  the  pent-up  emotion  it  betrayed, 
spoke  those  words  which  she  had  never  before  dared 
utter. 

''The  family  honor  demanded  that  my  child  should 
disappear,"  she  continued,  while  her  voice  grew  hard  and 
cold  again.  "  Because  my  hand  was  promised  to  the 
Count  de  Linieres,  the  family  honor  demanded  that  I 
should  deceive  an  honorable  man,  or  sacrifice  the  life  of 
my  child.  I  bowed  to  the  inflexible  will  of  my  father." 

The  mother's  love  and  sorrow  overpowered  her,  and 
her  eyes,  which  had  been  so  dry  and  hard,  were  now 
made  tender  by  the  blessed  boon  of  tears. 

"  I  prayed  that  God  would  have  pity  on  the  life  of  the 
little  creature  whom  I  had  scarce  embraced  when  they 
cruelly  tore  it  from  me,"  she  continued,  while  the  sobs 
escaped  with  the  words.  <f  I  consoled  myself  with  the 
hope  that  perhaps  I  should  see  it  again  some  day.  Alas  1 
the  days  have  passed  into  months,  the  months  into  years, 
and  all  my  prayers  are  in  vain." 

"  My  poor  aunt,"  said  the  chevalier,  as  he  took  her 
hand  tenderly  in  his  and  endeavored,  in  the  caressing 
touch  he  bestowed  upon  it,  to  impart  some  of  the  sym- 
pathy and  love  he  felt. 

"  So  cruel — so  cruel,  that  I  often  ask  myself  if  it  would 
not  have  been  better  had  they  killed  me  too,"  said  the 
poor  woman,  again  pacing  restlessly  up  and  down  the 
room.  "  Yes — yes,  far  more  merciful  than  to  have  in^ 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  79 

flicted  the  punishment  I  have  suffered  for  so  many  years. 
I  dare  not  think  she  lives ;  for  if  she  does,  into  what 
abyss  may  not  my  criminal  abandonment  have  plunged 
her!" 

"  Try  not  to  let  your  mind  rest  upon  these  things,  my 
poor  aunt,"  said  the  chevalier,  in  a  voice  as  low  and 
sweet  as  a  woman's. 

The  countess  did  not  heed  him. 

The  past  had  full  power  over  her  now,  and  her  voice 
was  strained  as  though  it  were  not  powerful  enough  to 
sustain  the  weight  of  emotion  she  put  on  it. 

"  The  horrible  thought,  that  if  living,  she  may  accuse 
me  of  her  misery,  perhaps  her  shame!  May  she  not  cry 
out  from  the  depths  of  her  despair :  *  Accursed  be  my 
unnatural  mother '  ?  Ah,  I  hear  that  frightful  curse  now 
ringing  in  my  ears ;  it  pursues  me  in  my  prayers, 
always,"  and  her  voice  ended  in  such  a  wail  of  misery  as 
could  only  come  from  a  heart  wrung  to  its  utmost  ten- 
sion by  despair. 

And  her  last  words  were  heard  by  one  other,  whom 
in  her  wanderings  in  the  past  she  had  forgotten — her 
husband. 

The  Count  de  Linieres  had  waited  in  an  adjoining  room 
until  he  thought  his  wife  must  have  said  all  she  wished 
to,  to  the  chevalier,  and  he  returned,  hoping  that  by 
adding  some  kind  advice  to  what  the  countess  had 
already  said,  he  might  be  able  so  to  influence  his  nephew; 
that  he  would  accede  to  the  king's  wishes. 

The  heavy  carpet  had  deadened  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps, and  if  he  had  made  any  noise,  both  the  chevalier 
and  his  aunt  were  too  much  engrossed  to  have  heard  it. 

As  he  heard  his  wife's  last  words,  uttered  in  such 
accents  of  despair,  he  started  in  alarm,  and  astonishment 
rooted  him  to  the  floor,  unable  to  move  or  speak. 

"  What  was  this  fearful  sorrow,  of  which  he  knew 


80  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

nothing?  "  was  the  thought  that  flashed  over  him  in  an 
instant,  and  he  remained,  not  in  the  attitude  of  a 
listener,  but  of  a  man  paralyzed  with  fear,  while,  all  un- 
conscious of  his  presence,  the  two  continued  their  con- 
versation. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"I  HAVE   SAVED  YOUR  HONOR." 

So  carried  away  with  his  argument  was  the  Chevalier 
de  Vaudrey,  that  the  words  came  from  his  lips  in  an 
irresistible  tide,  carrying  with  them  sorrow  and  pity  to 
the  woman  whose  past  life  was  thus  brought  before  her, 
and  shame  and  anger  to  the  man  who  thus  unconsciously 
had  learned  of  the  one  dark  time  in  the  history  of  the 
woman  he  loved. 

"Then  do  you,  who  have  suffered  so  much,  who  suffer 
still,  counsel  me  to  obey  ?  "  asked  the  chevalier,  eagerly. 
"  Would  you  have  me  chain  my  life  to  one  woman,  while 
my  heart  is  filled  with  the  image  of  another  ?  will  you 
advise  me  to  do  this  ?  " 

Hard  words  were  these  for  a  husband  to  hear,  espe- 
cially when  it  was  the  first  intimation  he  had  of  such 
suffering,  and  he  showed,  in  the  deeply  furrowed  brow, 
the  clenched  hand,  and  the  white  trembling  lips,  how 
deeply  the  blow  had  struck. 

The  picture  De  Vaudrey  had  presented  to  his  aunt,  the 
thought  that  her  words  might  be  the  means  of  consign- 
ing the  young  man  to  the  same  sad  fate  which  had  been 
hers,  swept  away  all  the  barriers  of  opposition,  and  she 
resolved  that,  if  it  lay  in  her  power,  the  sacrifice  should 
not  be  made. 

"  No— no,  never !  "  she  exclaimed,  passionately.  "  You 
shall  not  marry  other  than  the  woman  you  love  I" 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  81 

The  count,  who  had  recovered  from  the  first  stupor  of 
surprise,  now  came  toward  his  wife,  and  had  she  not 
been  in  such  extreme  agitation,  she  would  have  seen  that 
her  husband  had  aged  many  years  in  the  few  moments 
he  had  been  absent  from  the  room. 

When  the  countess  saw  him,  she  thought  not  of  what 
he  might  have  heard,  she  did  not  notice  his  appearance ; 
but,  so  deeply  was  her  woman's  heart  moved,  that  she 
thought  only  of  her  nephew. 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  have  pity  on  him,"  she  almost  begged, 
as,  clasping  her  hands  before  her,  she  went  toward  her 
husband ;  "  do  not  ask  him  to  stifle  the  cry  of  his  con- 
science. His  heart  revolts  against  the  sacrifice  you  ask. 
Do  not  imitate  those  parents  whose  pride  condemns  their 
children  to  lives  of  falsehood  and  despair." 

She  would  have  said  many  things  which  would  have 
but  added  fuel  to  the  flame  that  was  burning  in  the 
count's  breast,  had  not  the  chevalier,  stepping  close  to 
her,  whispered: 

"Take  care  I" 

"  Madame !  "  exclaimed  De  Linieres,  looking  at  her  in 
surprise,  "  to  whom  do  you  refer  ?  Of  what  are  you 
speaking,  when  you  use  the  words,  'pride,  falsehood, 
despair '  ?  " 

Her  husband's  cool,  sarcastic  words,  uttered  in  a  voice 
which  chilled,  recalled  her  to  a  sense  of  what  she  hac 
oaid,  and  a  deathly  feeling  came  over  her,  causing  her  tc 
seek  the  support  of  the  chair. 

The  count  looked  at  her  fixedly,  and  she  saw  that 
some  answer  was  required  of  her.  In  a  voice  scarcely 
audible,  the  unhappy  woman  faltered : 

"I  meant — I  spoke  of " 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  chevalier,  anxious  to  shield  the 
poor  lady,  "  the  words  of  the  countess  are  but  the  echo 
•f  those  she  just  heard  me  utter.  They  are  the  irre- 


82  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

vocable  revolt  of  my  heart  against  the  marriage  and  the 
suffering  you  would  impose  upon  me." 

The  Count  de  Linieres  was  far  from  being  satisfied 
with  the  chevalier's  explanation.  Looking  at  his  wife 
in  a  manner  which  showed  that  he  did  not  believe  what 
had  just  been  told  him,  he  asked,  in  a  cold,  stiff  voice: 

"  Had  your  words  no  other  meaning,  madame  ?  " 

"  No — no  1 "  answered  the  countess,  confusedly,  as 
though  she  knew  not  the  meaning  of  the  words  she 
uttered.  "  I  am  agitated,  faint — you  see,  monsieur,  I  ana 
ill." 

"  That  is  evident,"  answered  the  count  in  a  voice 
which  had  in  ita  tones  no  sympathy  or  emotion.  Then 
turning  to  his  nephew,  he  ordered,  rather  than  requested, 
"  Chevalier,  conduct  the  countess  to  her  room,  and  return 
immediately.  I  desire  to  speak  with  you." 

With  a  compassionate  look  at  his  aunt,  the  chevalier 
offered  her  his  arm  and  conducted  her  to  her  apartments. 

Hard]y  had  he  left  the  room  when  the  minister,  seat- 
ing  himself  at  his  table,  wrote  a  few  words  on  a  paper, 
and  after  having  sealed  it,  rang  the  bell  sharply. 

The  old  clerk  answered  the  summons,  and  to  him  the 
count  handed  the  paper,  saying : 

"  Take  this  to  the  keeper  of  the  secret  records,  and 
return  with  what  he  gives  you." 

Like  a  well-made  automaton,  the  clerk  took  the  paper, 
made  a  stiff  bow,  and  with  a  precise,  mechanical  manner, 
left  the  room. 

Left  to  himself,  the  envied  minister  of  police  gave  way 
to  the  passion  wave  that  had  threatened  to  overwhelm 
him  in  the  presence  of  his  wife. 

He  paced  the  room  in  the  same  wild  way  that  his  wife 
had  done  but  a  few  moments  before,  and  waited  impa- 
tiently for  the  return  of  his  nephew. 

At  last  the  chevalier  returned,  ajad  the  look  upon  hi* 


THE   TWO   OKPHANS.  83 

face  showed  plainly  that  he  had  nerved  himself  for  the 
Itruggle  which  was  inevitable. 

"  Chevalier !  "  said  the  old  gentleman,  going  up  to  De 
Vaudrey  in  an  angry,  nervous  manner,  "  you  can  readily 
understand  that  propriety  and  considerations  for  mr 
own  dignity  induced  me  to  accept  the  explanation  madt 
by  you  on  behalf  of  the  countess." 

"  Monsieur  1 "  interrupted  De  Vaudrey,  in  an  angry 
tone. 

"  You  also  understand  that  that  explanation  did  not 
satisfy  me,"  continued  the  count,  not  heeding  the  angry 
exclamation. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  chevalier,  in  a  cool,  irritating  tone, 
"  what  are  you  pleased  to  think?  " 

"  I  think,  sir,"  answered  De  Linieres,  now  almost  beside 
himself  with  rage,  "  that  the  countess  wept,  not  for  you, 
but  for  herself.  You  spoke  of  her  own  griefs,  of  her 
early  life,  which  is  shrouded  in  some  dark  secret,  per- 
haps  a  guilty  one,  which  weighs  upon  her  conscience, 
and  is  the  torment  of  her  life  and  mine.  Speak,  Cheva- 
lier, what  is  it  ?  " 

It  was  impossible  for  De  Vaudrey  to  tell  how  much 
of  the  conversation  the  count  had  heard,  and  what  reply 
to  make. 

He  must  shield  his  aunt  from  all  suspicion  of  wrong : 
but  how  ? 

There  was  now  but  one  way,  and  that  was  to  denj 
everything  until  he  could  know  what  had  been  over 
heard. 

"  Monsieur  de  Linieres,"  he  began,  in  an  angry  tone, 
and  purposely  dropping  the  title. 

"I  command  you  to  speak!"  interrupted  the  count, 
in  a  loud  voice. 

"  I  know  nothing,  monsieur,"  was  the  young  man'f 
brief  answer. 


*4  THE  TWO  OEPHAN8. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  was  the  angry  rejoinder.  "You 
choose  to  forget  all  you  owe  to  me.  Twice  to-day  have 
you  refused  obedience  to  my  wishes,  nay,  to  my  com- 
mands. Nevertheless,  I  will  know  the  secret  which  you 
refuse  to  disclose." 

"  I  am  ignorant  of  the  secret  to  which  you  refer,"  said 
Be  Vaudrey,  in  a  haughty  voice. 

The  count  was  about  to  make  an  angry  reply,  which 
would,  perhaps,  have  opened  a  breach  in  their  friend- 
ship which  even  time  would  be  powerless  to  heal,  when 
the  clerk  returned  with  the  answer  to  the  note. 

He  had  with  him  a  heavy  volume,  bound  with  heavy 
clasps  of  steel,  and  dark  with  age.  It  was  a  book,  which 
even  to  look  at,  would  convince  the  beholder  that  within 
its  heavy  covers  were  written  dark  and  terrible  secrets. 
A  book,  the  result  of  despotism,  which,  if  opened,  would 
carry  misery  to  thousands,  and  one  from  which  no  good 
could  come. 

As  noiselessly  as  he  had  entered,  the  automaton  of  the 
police  office  departed,  and  again  the  two  men  were  left 
alone. 

"  If  yoiF  do  not  already  know  the  secret,"  said  the 
count,  as  he  seated  himself  before  the  ponderous  volume, 
tnd  began  turning  the  leaves  with  a  nervous  haste,  "  we 
will  learn  it  together." 

It  was  with  the  greatest  anxiety  that  De  Vaudry  saw 
these  preparations,  the  meaning  of  which  he  could  n_ot 
imagine. 

Never  for  a  moment  did  he  think  of  any  such  records 
as  the  one  he  now  saw,  and  he  could  only  rack  his  brain 
in  vain  for  some  solution  to  his  uncle's  purpose. 

But  he  was  soon  enlightened. 

"  Here,  here,  in  the  archives  of  the  police,  are  entered 
the  secrets  of  every  noble  family  in  France,"  said  the 
oount,  seeking  some  particular  page,  "  and  here  will  I 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  86 

learn  the  secret  of  Diane  de  Vaudrey,  Countess  de  Li»- 
ieres." 

For  a  time  the  chevalier  was  stunned  by  his  uncle'g 
words,  and  looked  on,  unable  to  move  and  speak. 

"  Why,  that  would  be  shameful  1    it  would  be  infa 
mous ! "  he  exclaimed  at  last,  going  toward  the  count  as 
if  to  prevent  his  carrying  his  purpose  into  effect. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  De  Linieres,  eagerly,  as  he  found  the 
page  he  was  seeking,  and  not  giving  heed  to  the 
chevalier's  angry  exclamation.  " '  House  of  De  Vaudrey,' 
and  each  member  has  a  page.  Ah  1  *  Diane  Eleanor, 
daughter  of  the  Count  Francois  de  Vaudrey.'  " 

The  minister  had  read  the  head  of  the  page  in  an 
exultant  tone.  Now  would  he  wrest  the  secret  which 
his  wife  had  so  jealously  kept  from  him,  and  he  began 
to  read. 

"  Monsieur,  you  must  not  read  1 "  cried  De  Vaudrey, 
as  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  open  page  to  prevent  his 
uncle  from  seeking  for  what  was  written. 

The  count  looked  at  the  chevalier  in  surprise.  Never 
had  he  known  the  young  man  to  act  in  such  utter  dis- 
regard to  his  authority,  and  he  asked,  in  an  angry 
tone : 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  answered  De  Vaudrey,  in  a  ringing  voice, 
"that  the  act  you  are  about  to  commit  is  unworthy  of 
you ;  unworthy  of  any  gentleman.  You  must  not,  shall 
not." 

A  deep  red  flush  surged  over  the  count's  face,  that 
portended  an  outburst  of  rage. 

"  Who  will  prevent  it?  "  he  asked,  in  a  voice  hoarse 
with  passion. 

"Your  own  honor,  which  will  revolt  against  such 
treason  ! "  said  the  young  man,  excitedly,  and  then,  see- 
ing that  his  words  had  no  effec*  upon  the  angry  man  b» 


86  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

fore  him,  and  forming  a  sudden  resolve,  he  added: 
"  And,  sir,  if  your  honor  does  not  speak  loud  enough,  I 
will." 

And  in  an  instant  he  had  grasped  the  page  which  bore 
the  fatal  secret,  tearing  it  from  the  book  with  an  angry 
wrench. 

Mastered  by  his  anger  and  astonishment,  the  count 
could  only  ask,  in  a  hesitating  way : 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  " 

"  I  warn  you,  sir,"  said  De  Yaudrey,  as  De  Linierea 
came  toward  him,  "  that  you  can  only  wrest  this  paper 
from  me  with  my  life.  You  shall  kill  me  before  I  part 
with  it.  Kemember,  sir,  that  it  is  not  alone  her  secret  I 
have  saved  you  from  violating,  'tis  your  own  dignity  and 
eelf-respect.  I  have  saved  your  honor." 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

SONS  OF  ONE  FATHER. 

To  how  many  thousand  homeless,  shelterless  beings  in 
a  great  city,  does  the  very  name  of  winter  send  a  shud- 
der over  their  attenuated  frames,  and  cause  them  to  think 
with  fear  and  dread  of  the  sufferings  which  must  be  theirs 
before  nature  shall  dispense  with  its  fleecy  mantle,  and 
the  sun  cheer  them  with  its  generous  warmth. 

Day  after  day  do  they  crouch  and  shiver  in  the  cold 
Streets,  begging  for  the  pittance  which  is  withheld  for 
fear  they  maybe  impostors,  while  the  wealthy  man,  who 
would  not  hesitate  to  spend  thousands  for  his  own 
pleasure,  goes  on  his  way  congratulating  himself  that  he 
has  not  been  imposed  upon,  while  the  poor  wretch  who 
had  hoped  to  receive  a  few  pennies,  draws  his  rags  closer 
around  him,  and  wonders  how  many  hours  will  elapse 
ere  gaunt  starvation  claims  him  as  his  victim. 


THE  TWO  ORPHAN!.  IT 

Should  that  poor  beggar,  starving  for  the  want  of  the 
few  crumbs  which  fall  unheeded  from  the  rich  man'a 
table,  ask  himself,  and  not  without  reason,  whether  there 
is  one  who  watches  the  sparrow's  fall,  the  godly  would 
turn  away  with  horror  at  the  sentiment,  and  rejoice 
again  that  they  did  not  give  alms  to  one  who  refuses  to 
believe,  or  questions  the  existence  of  a  kind  God. 

Day  after  day  do  we  read,  and  in  a  moment  forget,  of 
some  one  who  was  fashioned  in  God's  own  likeness  lying 
dead  for  want. 

Dead — for  want  of  a  crnst! 

Dead — in  the  cold  night  air! 
Dead — and  under  the  dust, 

Without  ever  a  word  of  prayer ; 
In  the  heart  of  the  wealthiest  city, 

In  the  most  Christian  land, 
Without  ever  a  word  of  pity, 

Or  the  touch  of  a  kindly  hand. 

Although  our  story  necessitates  our  giving  the  history 
of  the  lives  of  some  of  those  persons  who  beg  rather  than 
work,  believe  that  such  cases  are  the  exception  rather 
than  the  rule,  and  let  not  the  history  of  the  Frochards 
deter  any  one  from  a  charitable  deed. 

Had  the  reader  been  in  Paris  on  this  winter  day,  and 
gone  to  the  Church  St.  Sulpice,  he  would  have  seen  the 
poor  cripple  Pierre  gazing  around  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
Louise. 

The  day  was  bitterly  cold,  and  the  snow,  which  had 
fallen  all  night,  was  still  covering  the  cold  earth  with  its 
shroud. 

Pierre,  clothed  in  rags,  limps  painfully  along,  stopping 
every  now  and  then  to  breathe  upon  his  purple  fingers, 
or  swing  his  arms  to  infuse  gome  warmth  in  his  chilled 
body. 


88  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

In  a  strong  contrast  to  him  is  the  well-dressed,  well, 
fed  Jacques,  who  meets  him  with  a  look  of  scorn. 

"  Have  the  women  not  come  yet  ?  "  asked  Jacques,  in 
the  tone  of  a  man  speaking  to  his  inferior. 

"No,  not  yet;  mother  and  Mademoiselle  Louise  are 
busy  elsewhere,  no  doubt,"  replied  Pierre,  while  he 
gazed  on  his  comfortably  clad  brother,  and  wondered 
why  they,  sons  of  one  father,  should  be  in  such  different 
circumstances. 

"  They  ought  to  be  here,"  said  Jacques,  the  handsome, 
impatiently.  "  The  services  will  soon  be  over,  and  they 
will  miss  the  charitable  idiots." 

"  They  will  be  here  in  good  time,"  said  the  cripple,  as 
if  to  excuse  their  absence.  "  You  need  not  worry  about 
them." 

"  It  will  be  none  too  soon  if  they  come  now,"  was  the 
angry  exclamation,  as  the  loving  son  went  to  seek  some 
shelter  from  the  storm,  where  he  could  wait  until  tlie 
coming  of  his  mother,  from  whom  he  expected  to  get 
money  enough  to  pay  for  his  night's  carousal  at  the 
nearest  cabaret. 

Pierre  moved  away,  as  though  expecting  a  blow  (which 
was  not  uncommon)  from  his  brother.  He  seemed  to  be 
trying  to  make  up  his  mind  to  say  something  to  hi« 
brother,  and  judging  from  the  length  of  time  it  took  him, 
he  did  not  expect  a  favorable  answer  to  his  prayer. 

At  last  he  went  toward  Jacques,  and  in  a  slow,  hesi- 
tating way,  said : 

"  Jacques,  I  have  got  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"  If  it  is  money,  I  haven't  got  any,"  answered  the  elder 
brother,  moving  away. 

"  No— no,"  answered  Pierre  quickly  ;  "  it  is  not  money 
— but,  look  here,  Jacques,  when  you  are  angry  with  me, 
curse  me,  beat  me,  if  you  want  to,  but  do  not  call  me 
cripple — not — not  when  Louise  is  present." 


"  And  in  an  instant  he  had  grasped  the  page." 

— Page  86. 


TWO  ORPHANS.  fS 

Jacques  looked  at  his  brother,  as  if  doubting  whether 
he  had  heard  aright,  and  then,  as  he  saw  the  supplicat- 
ing look  on  the  deformed  boy's  face,  he  broke  out  into 
a  coarse  laugh. 

"  Indeed  I "  he  sneered.  "  We  must  speak  to  monsieui 
respectfully  ;  take  off  your  hats,  I  suppose.  Why,  we 
will  dress  you  up  in  silk  and  velvet.  You  would  like 
to  wear  gloves  and  carry  a  sword,  I  suppose." 

The  picture  which  his  coarse  taunts  had  called  up  wan 
BO  comical  to  his  mind  that  he  was  obliged  to  stop 
speaking  and  indulge  in  another  hearty  laugh. 

An  expression  of  pain  passed  over  Pierre's  face.  He 
had  hoped  that  his  brother  would  grant  this  simple 
favor,  and  his  sneering  words  cut  the  poor  fellow  to  the 
heart. 

"  Jacques  1 "  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  sadness  and  re- 
proach. 

"So  it  hurts  your  feelings  to  be  called  cripple,  does 
it  ?  "  continued  Jacques,  in  a  voice  that  hurt  his  brother 
more  than  his  blows  would.  "  Well,  look  at  yourself 
what  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  poor,  deformed  cripple,"  answered  Pierre,  as 
he  brushed  away  the  rising  tear.  "  And  to  whom  do  I 
owe  it  ?  Who,  when  I  was  but  an  infant,  beat  me,  and 
broke  and  twisted  my  limbs  because  I  refused  to  steal  a 
coat  for  him  ?  " 

"  You  lie  I  it  was  a  cloak,"  interrupted  Jacques,  fiercely, 

"  That  is  always  your  way,"  continued  the  cripple, 
-'  to  make  some  one  else  steal  for  you.  That  was  what 
forced  poor  Marianne " 

"Marianne!"  exclaimed  Jacques,  as  he  raised  his 
hand  to  strike  the  one  who  thus  brought  up  the  past. 
"  Don't  you  dare  to  mention  that  ungrateful  fool's  name 
to  me  again.  She  was  a  heartless  jade,  who  would  rath- 
er go  to  prison  than  give  me  her  money,"  and  Jacques 


00  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

turned  away  with  an  expression  of  disgust  at  the  idw 
of  such  ingratitude. 

"  She  saved  you  from  a  punishment,"  said  Pierre,  who 
was  ever  ready  to  plead  for  the  cause  of  the  unfortunate. 

"  That  is  enough  1 "  cried  the  ruffian,  stamping  his 
foot  angrily.  "  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  more  about 
her.  I  have  found  another,  who  is  better  looking  and 
more  useful.  As  for  you,  as  you  don't  want  to  be  called 
cripple  any  more " 

And  Jacques  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  he  were  search- 
ing his  brain  for  some  name,  while  Pierre,  thinking  that 
his  brother  had  relented,  and  was  about  to  answer  his 
prayer,  exclaimed  anxiously : 

"Well?" 

"  I'll  rechristian  you — Cupid." 

Again  a  look  of  intense  pain  passed  over  Pierre's  face, 
as  his  brother's  laugh  rang  out  loud  and  shrill. 

"  Do  as  you  like,"  he  said,  wearily,  as  if  resigning 
himself  to  all  the  insults  his  brother  might  see  fit  to 
heap  upon  him. 

"  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,"  said  Jacques,  contempt- 
uously, "  it  is  only  when  Louise  is  about  that  you  object 
to  be  called  cripple ;  perhaps — "  and  as  he  was  no  longer 
able  to  control  himself,  he  burst  out  into  his  fiendish 
laughter  again,  at  some  thought  which  had  entered  hia 
wicked  brain.  Then,  chuckling  to  himself,  he  said, 
shaking  his  head  in  a  mocking  way:  "Ah,  that  would 
be  too  good." 

"  "What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Pierre,  not  understand- 
ing  his  brother's  mirth. 

"  You  are  not  so  stupid  after  all,"  laughed  Jacques. 
"  She  is  blind,  and  doesn't  know  the  difference  between 
a  handsome  man  like  me  and  a  miserable  abortion  like 
you,"  and  again  his  mirth  resulted  in  laughter,  while  he 
exclaimed :  "  You're  in  love — in  love  with  a  blind  girl" 


TUB  TTTO   OBPHANI.  91 

M  I  ? "  said  Pierre,  in  surprise,  as  if  hardly  under- 
itanding  what  his  brother  had  said,  and  at  the  same  time 
looking  down  upon  his  misshapen  form.  "  I  ?  In  love?  " 

"  Why  then,  are  you  ashamed  of  being  called  cripple 
before  her  ?  Afraid  she'll  find  out  your  beautiful  shape, 
eh?" 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is  so,"  said  the  poor  boy,  as  if  the  word* 
came  from  him  involuntarily.  "  I  want  to  think  there 
is  one  in  the  world  who  does  not  regard  me  with  dis- 
gust. If  she  thought  I  was  like  others,  she  might  have 
some  feeling  of  friendship  for  me.  But  in  love — in  love 
with  her,  who  is  beautiful  enough  to  be  an  angel  ?  " 

And  there  was  upon  Pierre's  face,  as  he  spoke  of  the 
blind  girl,  a  light  which  is  rarely  seen,  and  then  only 
when  it  is  lit  by  a  soul  pure  and  noble. 

Jacques  looked  upon  his  brother  in  surprise.  He  saw 
in  that  pale  face  something  that  he  had  never  seen  be- 
fore, and  could  hardly  repress  his  astonishment. 

"  How  the  devil  did  you  find  that  all  out  ?  I  don't 
know  or  care  any  thing  about  her  goodness,"  he  said, 
after  a  short  pause.  "  Bosh  for  all  that — and  as  to  her 
beauty,  I  know  that  her  eyes  are  more  use  to  her  now 
than  if  she  could  see  with  them." 

"  Yes — yes,  she  is  blind,"  said  Pierre,  sadly,  "  but  her 
face  is  so  sweet  that  it  would  move  a  stone  to  pity,  and 
her  great,  beautiful  eyes  look  at  me  so  truthfully  that  I 
almost  fear  that  she  can  see  me." 

"  There — there,"  said  Jacques,  who  had  not  heard  the 
latter  part  of  the  sentence,  but  who  had  started  toward 
some  drinking  saloon  where  he  would  find  more  congenial 
companions,  "  stop  your  muttering  and  come  along  with 
me.  I  want  you,  Cupid;  come!" 

For  once  Pierre  determined  to  resist  his  brother's  tyr- 
anny. 


92  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

"  I  will  not  go,"  lie  said,  in  a  voice  he  vainly  endeav- 
ored to  make  sound  firm. 

"  Eh  I "  cried  Jacques,  in  amazement.  "  What's  this  ? 
rebellion,  eh !  now  do  as  I  order  you,  or  look  out  for  a 
beating,"  and  the  brute  in  human  shape  went  toward  the 
cripple  with  hand  uplifted  to  strike. 

Just  at  that  moment  the  sad,  sweet  voice  of  a  young 
girl  was  heard  not  far  off,  and  Pierre  started  with  de- 
light ;  he  recognized  the  tones  of  that,  to  him,  angel 
song,  and  his  purpose  was  changed  immediately. 

Like  a  voice  from  heaven  did  the  notes,  welling  over 
with  despaic,  speak  to  the  deformed  lad,  filling  his  heart 
with  peace  and  love. 

"  Jacques,"  he  said,  softly,  "  you  are  older  than  I, 
you're  straight  and  strong,  and  I  must  submit  to  you  ; 
but  when  I  see  the  use  you  make  of  your  strength,  I  am 
satisfied  with  my  ugly  shape  and  miserable  weakness." 

And  as  he  finished  speaking,  he  turned  in  the  direc- 
tion from  which  the  sound  proceeded,  and  stood  in 
anxious  expectancy,  awaiting  the  approach  of  the  blind 
girl,  who  had  so  entirely  changed  the  course  of  his  life. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  POWER  OF  LAW. 

THE  minister  of  police  was  so  astonished  by  the  sud- 
den action  on  the  part  of  his  nephew,  that  he  was  for  a 
few  moments  unable  to  speak. 

His  anger  struggled  for  the  mastery  with  his  surprise, 
and  as  De  Vaudrey  saw  the  deep  red  flush  mantling  his 
uncle's  face,  he  well  knew  what  portended.  He  held  the 
leaf  upon  which  was  written  the  secret  of  the  countess, 
but  how  long  he  might  be  permitted  to  retain  it  was 
•till  an  open  question. 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  98 

De  Yaudrey  knew  that  the  count  would  not  hesitate 
to  call  upon  the  police,  and  order  them  to  wrest  the  paper 
from  him,  and  he  deemed  it  the  wisest  course  to  leave 
the  room  while  his  uncle  was  yet  stupefied,  as  it  were,  at 
his  conduct. 

With  a  low  bow  to  the  now  thoroughly  angry  count, 
the  chevalier  left  the  room,  and  proceeded  directly  to  the 
apartments  of  the  countess. 

Meeting  a  servant  as  he  went  through  the  lofty  halla, 
he  directed  him  to  wait  on  the  Count  de  Linieres ;  for 
De  Vaudrey  had  serious  fears  that,  upon  one  of  hie 
uncle's  temperament,  the  passion  which  had  control  of 
him  might  prove  fatal. 

His  first  movement,  as  he  entered  the  antechamber  of 
his  aunt's  apartments,  was  to  commit  the  paper  he  had 
torn  from  the  book  to  the  flames  ;  and  not  until  he  had 
Been  the  last  smoldering  vestige  of  it  reduced  to  ashes, 
did  he  seek  the  presence  of  the  countess. 

De  Vaudrey  treated  the  interview  with  the  count,  in 
his  conversation  with,  the  countess,  as  nothing  serious; 
and  assured  her,  without  relating  any  of  the  particulars 
that  her  secret  was  safe. 

Indeed,  so  moved  was  the  countess  by  the  chevalier's 
argument  in  favor  of  the  girl  whom  he  loved,  that,  ter- 
rible as  she  believed  would  be  the  consequences  if  her 
secret  was  made  known  to  her  husband,  she  hardly 
thought  of  what  she  had  said,  and  consequently  believed 
that  the  count's  order  for  his  nephew  to  return  to  him 
after  escorting  his  aunt  to  her  apartments,  referred  only 
to  the  question  of  the  marriage  which  the  king  desired. 

It  was  an  exceedingly  simple  task  for  the  chevalier 
now  to  induce  the  Countess  de  Linieres  to  call  upon  the 
young  girl  he  loved,  and  after  giving  her  Henriette's  ad- 
dress, and  receiving  her  assurance  that  she  would  visit 
the  young  girl  on  her  return  from  church,  the  chevalier 


94  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

took  his  departure,  leaving  the  countess  to  wander  back 
in  the  dark  and  terrible  mazes  of  the  past,  while  he 
should  seek  Henriette's  society,  and  be  happy  as  ha 
basked  in  the  sunlight  of  the  loved  one's  smiles. 

The  servant  whom  De  Vaudrey  had  sent  to  the  assist* 
ance  of  the  count,  found  that  gentleman  in  the  greatest 
state  of  excitement,  consequent  upon  the  behavior  of  his 
nephew. 

"  Send  the  chief  clerk  to  me,"  said  De  Linieres  to  tho 
servant 

When  the  clerk  entered,  he  found  his  chief  in  a  more 
quiet  frame  of  mind ;  but  from  his  manner  of  speaking, 
the  clerk  knew  that  his  superior  was  in  no  enviable 
mood. 

"  You  will  find  out  immediately  where  the  Chevalier 
De  Vaudrey  has  concealed  the  girl  whom  he  carried 
from  the  garden  of  Bel- Air  I  " 

The  clerk's  movements  were  just  as  mechanical  and 
automaton-like  as  ever,  and  he  would  have  preserved 
the  same  machine-like  movements  had  he  found  the  min- 
ister of  police  dead  in  his  chair,  instead  of  simply  in  a 
rage. 

Tn  a  few  moments  the  clerk  returned. 

"  The  young  woman  is  residing  in  the  Faubourg  St. 
flonore,"  he  said,  stiffly,  "  but  there  is  reason  to  believe 
that  the  chevalier  does  not  contribute  to  her  support." 

•"  Have  a  guard  ready  to  accompany  me.  I,  myself, 
will  arrest  this  girl." 

Not  a  look  of  surprise  on  the  subordinate's  face.  He 
evinced  no  surprise,  if  he  felt  any,  but  left  the  room  to 
execute  the  count's  demands. 

u  I  will  see  if  this  insane  idea  cannot  be  driven  out  of 
the  boy's  head,"  said  De  Linieres,  talking  half  to  himself. 
"  The  girl  must  be  taken  to  La  Salpetriere,  and  the  chev» 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  96 

alier  may  cool  his  ardor  in  the  Bastile  until  he  can  look 
at  the  matter  in  a  sensible  light." 

Thus  did  the  worthy  minister  of  police  imagine  that 
he  could  separate  two  loving  hearts,  and  cause  one  to  be 
false  to  the  other. 

His  own  marriage  had  been  one  of  blind  obedience  to 
his  parents,  and  with  a  heart  that  beat  only  in  the  hope 
of  royal  favor,  he  could  not  understand  the  fidelity  of 
born  love. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  STREET   BEGGAR'S  LIFB. 

THE  angelic  voice  of  Louise,  which  sounded  to  Pierre 
as  the  harbinger  of  love  and  peace,  drew  a  sigh  of  relief 
from  Jacques.  He  had  deferred  his  carousal  at  the  cab- 
aret because  he  had  no  money ;  therefore  he  had  waited 
until  he  could  take  from  his  mother  the  scanty  amount 
earned  by  the  blind  girl,  who  was  so  cruelly  forced  to 
beg. 

"  Here  they  are  at  last,"  said  Jacques,  joyfully,  adding, 
in  a  tone  of  undisputed  proprietorship:  "That  voice 
ought  to  be  worth  a  louis  a  day,  at  least." 

Mother  Frochard's  shrill  cry  of  "  Charity,  good  people. 
Pity  a  poor  unhappy  child.  Charity,  if  you  please,"  was 
heard  before  the  two  came  in  sight,  and  the  shrill  tones 
of  that  harsh  voice  sounded  doubly  hard  in  the  cold, 
frosty  air. 

"  How  the  poor  child  must  suffer !  "  exclaimed  Pierre, 
sympathetically. 

"  Good !  "  was  Jacques'  unfeeling  rejoinder ;  "  that's 
part  of  the  business.  Look  out,  Master  Cupid,  no  get- 
ting soft,  I  tell  you." 

At  this  moment  the  two  came  into  the  square,  and  as 
•oon  as  the  old  woman  saw  that  it  was  unoccupied,  sav* 


96  THE  TWO  OKPJTANS. 

by  her  two  dons,  she  dropped  her  cry  of  "  Charity,"  and 
exclaimed,  in  an  angry  voice  : 

"  Ah,  there's  nothing  to  be  got  from  those  miserable 
3ommon  people!  They  will  stop  and  listen  quick 
anough  ;  but  when  you  ask  them  for  a  sou,  they  clear 
out." 

"It  will  be  better  when  the  church  is  out,"  said 
Jacques  patronizingly,  as  he  lighted  his  pipe,  and  went 
toward  his  mother. 

"  We'll  go  back,  then,"  said  the  old  woman,  as  she 
grasped  the  thinly-clad  arm  of  Louise  in  her  hard,  rough 
hand.  "  Come — come,  let  us  be  moving  ! " 

"  I  am  tired,  madame,"  said  the  poor  girl,  in  tones  of 
deepest  distress,  and  her  looks  and  actions  bore  evidence 
of  the  truth  of  her  words. 

Although  the  day  was  bitterly  cold,  and  the  snow 
falling  fast,  the  young  girl  was  clad  only  in  thin  cotton 
garments,  and  the  wretched  shoes  that  were  upon  her 
feet  afforded  very  little  protection.  During  all  of  that 
Sabbath  day,  which  was  intended  as  a  day  of  rest  for 
man  and  beast,  she  had  walked  the  streets,  singing  as 
well  as  she  was  able,  and  forced  aiong  by  the  old  hag  at 
her  side,  until  now  she  reeled  with  fatigue  as  she  walked, 
and  many  times  would  she  have  fallen  had  it  not  been 
for  the  relentless  grasp  of  the  wicked  woman  who  was 
*;hus  forcing  this  life  of  misery  upon  her. 

When,  worn  out  by  fatigue  and  suffering,  Louise  ven- 
tured to  say  that  she  was  tired,  Mother  Frochard  looked 
at  her  with  as  much  astonishment  in  her  face  as  though 
Pierre's  wheel  had  complained. 

"  Well,  you  can  sleep  to-night,"  she  said,  roughly. 

"  Oh,  madame  1  I  am  so  tired  I  can  scarcely  stand,  we 
have  walked  so  much  to-day,"  said  Louise,  in  a  piteous 
tone. 

11  Well,  didn't  you  want  to  walk  ?  "  asked  La  Frochard 


THB  TWO  ORPHANS.  97 

angrily.  "  Didn't  you  say  that  you  wanted  to  look  for 
your  sister  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  you  always  walk  in  the  same  part  of  the 
city,"  was  the  low  answer  of  the  blind  girl. 

"  Bah  1 "  interrupted  the  old  woman.  "  How  do  you 
know  ?  You  can't  see." 

"  I  know  that,  madame,  when  you  found  me  you 
promised " 

"  I  promised  you  to  find  your  sister.  Ain't  I  doing 
it?"  and  the  old  hag's  voice  took  a  tone  of  injured 
innocence.  "  I  ain't  rich,  and  you  must  earn  your  bread. 
You  must  sing,  and  I'll  do  the  begging." 

"I'll  sing,  madame,"  said  Louise,  in  a  voice  full  of 
resignation,  "  if  you  wish  it." 

"  Yes ;  but  how  do  you  sing  ?  "  asked  the  old  woman, 
brutally.  "  Like  a  mourner  at  a  funeral." 

"I  sing  as  well  as  I  can,"  pleaded  the  blind  girl,  pit- 
eously.  "  I  cannot  help  it,  I  cannot,  indeed  I  cannot. 
"When  I  think  of  what  I  am — of  what  I  am  doing — I— 
I — I  am  so  unhappy — so  miserably  unhappy  I  " 

And  no  longer  able  to  restrain  her  feelings,  she  sunk 
down  upon  the  cold,  wet  snow,  and  gave  herself  up  to  an 
agony  of  grief  that  plainly  told  how  near  the  poor  heart 
was  to  breaking. 

During  this  affecting  scene  the  two  brothers  stood 
looking  on,  but  with  entirely  different  feelings. 

To  Jacques  it  was  a  scene  which  afforded  him  great 
enjoyment,  and  nothing  ever  gave  him  half  the  pleasure 
that  the  sight  of  grief  or  suffering  did. 

But  Pierre  was  different.  He  could  never  look  upon 
another's  sorrow  unmoved ;  but  when  it  was  Louise's 
grief  that  he  was  a  witness  of,  his  heart  was  deeply 
touched,  and  despite  his  efforts  to  restrain  them,  the 
tears  rolled  down  hia  cheeks,  and  involuntarily  hi 
t 


98  THE  TWO  OBPHANS. 

stretched  his  hands  out  toward  her,  and  in  a  voice  whicll 
expressed  the  sympathy  he  felt,  he  called : 

"  Louise ! " 

He  would  have  gone  toward  her,  but  Jacques  caught 
him  roughly  by  the  shoulder,  and  hurled  him  some  dis- 
tance away. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  up  to,  Master  Cupid  ?  "  he  asked, 
as  he  savagely  surveyed  his  fallen  brother. 

"  Nothing — nothing,"  said  Pierre,  as  he  slowly  rose 
from  the  ground,  and  then,  as  shame  came  over  him  at 
his  own  helpless  condition,  he  muttered : 

"  I  am  so  helpless  I  " 

Jacques  went  toward  the  weeping  girl,  and  after  gaz- 
ing at  her  admiringly  for  a  few  moments,  he  said: 

"  She  is  pretty  when  she  cries." 

"  Come — come,"  said  Mother  Frochard,  seizing  Louise 
brutally  by  the  arm,  and  dragging  her  to  her  feet, 
"  enough  of  this,  let  us  be  moving." 

"  Very  well,  madame,  I  will,"  said  the  poor  girl,  striv« 
ing  to  repress  her  tears,  and  holding  on  by  the  old  wo- 
man's arm  in  order  to  stand,  while  at  the  same  time  she 
wiped  away  the  tears  which  were  streaming  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  Don't  do  that !  "  exclaimed  La  Frochard,  catching 
Louise's  hands.  "  What !  would  you  wipe  away  real 
tears  ?  Why,  that  is  the  very  thing  to  catch  your  soft- 
hearted fools." 

At  this  moment  a  gentleman  passed  by,  and  seeing  the 
evident  suffering  of  the  beautiful  girl,  he  drew  a  coin 
from  his  pocket  and  put  it  in  the  girl's  unwilling  palm, 
and  passed  on  his  way. 

Like  a  hawk  pouncing  upon  a  dove  did  Mother  Fro- 
chard grasp  the  hand  which  held  the  money,  and  in  an 
instaut  it  was  transferred  to  her  capacious  pocket. 


"  Well,  what  are  you  up  to,  Master   Cupid  r  " 

—  Page  98. 


THE   TWO   ORPHANS.  99 

"There,  what  did  I  tell  you?  "  she  said,  triumphantly. 
Then  giving  the  poor  girl  a  hard  shake,  she  said : 

"Go  on  crying." 

As  she  saw  others  approaching  she  raised  her  monot- 
onous cry : 

"  Charity,  good  people,  if  you  please." 

Among  the  people  who  were  coming  toward  the 
church  was  the  good-natured  doctor  of  the  hospital  of 
St.  Louis  and  La  Salpetriere,  and  to  him  did  Mother 
Frochard  direct  her  cries  for  charity. 

"  Please,  my  good  sir,"  said  the  old  woman,  going 
toward  him,  and  holding  out  her  dirty  hand. 

Pierre  and  Jacques  had  moved  away  as  soon  as  the 
church-goers  came  up,  and  now  Mother  Frochard,  her 
charge,  and  the  doctor,  were  the  only  ones  in  the  square. 

The  physician  paid  no  attention  to  the  old  woman's 
entreaty,  and  was  walking  away,  but  La  Frochard  was 
not  to  be  shaken  off  so  easily.  She  stepped  in  front  of 
him,  and  cried,  in  a  whining  tone:  " Charity,  if  you 
please." 

"  Oh,  clear  out ! "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  whose  patience 
was  exhausted. 

"  Pity  for  a  poor  blind  child,  if  you  please,  charity  I " 
persisted  the  old  woman. 

As  the  old  woman  spoke  of  the  misfortune  of  Louise, 
the  doctor's  professional  feelings,  if  not  his  charitable, 
were  aroused,  and  he  turned  quickly  around,  asking : 

"  Blind  !  Who  ?  "  and  seeing  Louise  for  the  first  time, 
pointed  to  her  as  he  asked :  "  Is  this  young  girl  blind  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  yes,  my  good  sir,  have  pity  on  her,"  whined 
Mother  Frochard,  in  her  professional  voice,  as  she  care- 
fully kept  Louise  behind  her. 

"  Poor,  unhappy  child !  "  said  the  good  doctor,  sympa- 
thetically. "  Let  me  look  at  your  eyes,"  and  as  h« 
spoke  he  went  toward  the  poor  orphan. 


100  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

It  was  charity  that  La  Frochard  wanted,  and  not  sym- 
pathy or  professional  services,  therefore  she  did  not  wish 
the  doctor  to  see  the  poor  girl  for  fear  that  she  might  be 
taken  to  the  hospital,  and  thereby  deprive  the  worthy 
Frochards  of  the  amount  she  could  earn  by  begging. 

The  old  woman  sprung  toward  Louise,  and  roughly 
pushed  her  away,  at  the  same  time  confronting  the 
physician  with  the  question  : 

"  What  do  ypu  want  to  see  her  for  ?  "  she  uttered  in 
an  angry  tone. 

"  Come  here,  my  child,"  continued  the  doctor,  not 
heeding  the  woman's  interference  or  question  ;  ''  Let  me 
«tee  your  eyes.  I  am  a  doctor." 

"  A  doctor ! "  exclaimed  Louise  joyfully,  as  she 
started  to  go  toward  the  kind  man  who  had  thus  inter- 
ested himself  in  her  fate. 

But  Mother  Frochard  caught  the  poor  girl  by  the  arm, 
and  with  a  vicious  thump  with  her  elbow  at  Louise's 
aide,  and  a  cruel  pinch  of  her  arm,  prevented  her  from 
«peaking. 

"  Come  along,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice  of  rage,  so 
low  as  not  to  be  heard  by  the  doctor ;  and  then,  in  a 
shrill  voice  which  she  tried  to  make  sound  resigned,  sh« 
said  to  the  physician :  "  They  can't  be  cured ;  it  is  no 
use,"  and  clutching  Louise  more  firmly  by  the  arm,  and 
almost  shaking  her  in  her  wrath,  she  said  :  "  Come  along, 
my  dear." 

"  But  I  insist,"  said  the  doctor,  firmly.  "  You  are 
impostors,  and  I  will  hand  you  over  to  the  police." 

The  old  hag's  eyes  glared  fiercely  for  a  moment,  but 
she  saw  that  it  was  useless  for  her  to  resist,  for  should 
Louise  once  get  under  the  protection  of  the  police,  she 
would  never  go  back  to  the  old  boat-house  on  the  banks 
of  the  Seine. 

•"  Well,  then,"  she  said  as  she  rudely  pushed  Louise 


THE   TWO   ORPHANS.  101 

toward  him,  "  see  for  yourself  if  she  is  not  blind,"  and 
then  unable  to  restrain  her  anger,  she  muttered  to  her- 
self, "  Curse  him  !  I  know  him,  he  is  that  whining  doc- 
tor at  the  hospital." 

And  as  soon  as  she  had  thus  given  vent  to  some  of 
her  anger,  she  stood  by  the  side  of  Louise  to  prevent  her 
from  telling  the  doctor  anything  that  might  reflect  on 
her  tormentor's  motherly  care. 

"  Ah,  sir,  if  you  are  a  doctor,"  began  Louise,  eagerly, 
but  before  she  had  concluded  the  sentence  Mother  Fro- 
chard  gave  her  such  a  cruel  pinch  on  the  arm  that  she  did 
not  dare  to  say  anything  more. 

"  Well,  do  you  see,"  asked  the  old  woman,  shrilly, 
after  the  doctor  had  examined  the  poor  girl's  eyes  for  a 
moment.  "  She's  blind,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  always  been  blind,  my  child,  have 
you?"  asked  the  doctor,  not  heeding  the  old  woman's 
question. 

"  No,  monsieur,"  said  Louise,  timidly,  as  she  invol- 
untarily shrunk  from  the  blow,  or  pinch,  which  she  ex- 
pected to  receive.  "  I  was  fourteen  years  old  when  this 
misfortune  befell  me." 

"  Fourteen !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor  in  astonishment, 
"  and  you  have  had  no  treatment  ?  " 

"  Monsieur — "  began  Louise,  eagerly,  forgetting  for 
the  moment  the  old  wretch  that  stood  beside  her. 

Mother  Frochard  saw  in  a  moment  that  Louise  was 
about  to  speak  of  her  past  life,  and  she  adroitly  admin- 
istered a  olow  in  the  poor  girl's  side,  unperceived  by  the 
doctor,  that  prevented  her  from  speaking,  and  before  the 
interruption  could  be  noticed,  dhe  said,  quickly  : 

"  We  are  so  poor,  good  doctor,  we  have  not  the 
money  to " 

"  Oh,  monsieur  1  "  interrupted  Louise,  who  would  not 
thus  be  deprived  of  one_chauce  to  regain  her  signt,  and 


102  THE  TWO  OKPHAN8. 

who  resolved  to  speak,  regardless  of  what  the  old 
woman  might  say  or  do.  "  For  mercy's  sake,  if  you 
have  any  pity,  speak  to  me,  tell  me  is  there  any  hope 
for  me?  Oh,  if  you  knew  from  what  misery  your 
words  might  save  me  1 " 

Again  did  the  old  woman  give  the  poor  orphan  a 
cruel  blow,  and  hastened  to  speak,  lest  Louise  should 
try  to  say  more. 

"  Yes — yes,  indeed,"  she  said,  in  her  whining  voice,  as 
she  tried  to  push  Louise  away,  "  there  can't  be  any 
worse  misery  than  to  be  blind.  If  she  could  see,  she 
could  work,  and  would  not  have  to  beg.  Isn't  that  so, 
my  dear  ?  "  and  again  the  cruel  hand  reminded  Louise 
how  she  must  speak. 

"  Yes — yes,"  said  the  poor  girl,  eagerly.  "  I  would 
work — I  would — I — I  would " 

She  was  about  to  say  that  she  would  then  find  her 
sister ;  but  Mother  Frochard,  ever  on  the  alert,  under- 
stood what  the  poor  orphan  would  say,  and  a  wicked 
grasp  of  the  arm  caused  her  to  change  her  words. 

"  Calm  yourself,  my  child,  calm  yourself,"  said  the 
good  doctor,  deeply  moved  by  the  suffering  which  was 
evident  from  the  young  girl's  words.  Then  beckoning 
to  the  old  woman,  he  moved  a  few  steps  away  from 
Louise,  and  said : 

"  Come  here." 

The  old  woman  pushed  Louise  some  distance  from 
her,  so  that  she  could  not,  by  any  means,  hear  what  was 
said,  and  then,  in  a  servile  voice,  asked,  as  she  went  to- 
ward the  physician : 

"  What  is  it,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Listen,"  said  the  medical  man,  in  a  low  tone.  "  You 
must  not  excite  her,  and  you  must  not  tell  her  suddenly 
what  I  hope;  but  bring  her  to  me  at  the  Hospital  Si 
Louis." 


THI  TWO   ORPHANS.  10S 

"  Yes — yes,"  said  the  old  woman,  quickly,  but  at  the 
same  time  with  an  ugly  scowl  upon  her  hard  face.  "  I 
know,  I  have  been  there  often." 

"  I  thought  I  recognized  you,"  said  the  doctor,  regard- 
ing her  thoughtfully.  "  Let  me  see,  you  are  called 
Mother " 

"Widow  Frochard,  monsieur,"  said  the  old  woman, 
drawing  herself  up  indignantly. 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  smile  upon 
his  face  at  the  old  hag's  assumption  of  dignity. 

"  Well,  when  she  is  calmer,  you  can  tell  her  gently 
that  I  think  there  is  hope  for  her,  and  then,  when  she  is 
more  accustomed  to  the  idea,  bring  her  to  me." 

"  Yes — yes,  I  will,"  replied  the  old  wretch,  with  a 
wicked  smile  upon  her  face.  "  I'll  tell  her  gently. 
Trust  me.  doctor,  for  that.  You  can  depend  on  me." 

Had  the  good  man  known  how  gently  the  old  woman 
would  have  told  the  poor  girl  of  the  good  news,  he 
would  not  have  left  her  as  he  did ;  but  he  believed 
Louise  to  be  Frochard's  daughter,  and  like  many  others, 
was  deceived  by  the  old  hag's  whining  voice. 

"  Here,  my  poor  child,"  said  the  doctor,  going  toward 
Louise,  and  giving  her  some  money,  while  to  the  poor 
girl  the  words  which  followed  were  of  more  value  than 
all  the  money  he  could  have  given  her.  "  Courage,"  he 
added,  in  a  pleasant  voice,  "  courage,  my  dear,  I  will  see 
you  again." 

These  words  carried  hope  with  them  to  the  afflicted 
girl's  heart,  and  in  the  excess  of  her  joy  she  was  unable 
to  speak,  but  stood  trembling  with  excitement. 

As  the  doctor  walked  away,  Mother  Frochard  called 
after  him  in  her  shrill,  cracked  voice : 

"  May  Heaven  bless  you,  good  doctor.  Heaven  bless 
you!" 

And  as  the  physician  turned  the  corner,  and  was  out 


104  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

of  hearing,  her  blessings  turned  to  curses,  and  in  a  voioe 
full  of  hate  and  anger,  she  exclaimed : 

"  Curses  on  you  for  a  meddling  old  fool  1 " 

"What  did  he  tell  you,  madame?"  asked  Louise, 
eagerly,  as  she  went  toward  the  old  woman,  expecting 
to  hear  the  words  of  encouragement  which  the  doctor's 
kind  words  assured  her  she  would  hear. 

"  He  said  it  was  not  worth  the  trouble,"  said  the  old 
hag,  in  a  hard  voice.  "  There  is  no  hope  for  you." 

These  cruel  words  struck  Louise  with  harder  force 
than  a  blow  would  have  done,  and  she  staggered  against 
one  of  the  buildings  for  support. 

"  Alas — alas  I  what  can  I  do  ?  "  she  wailed,  and  there 
was  a  depth  of  despair  in  her  cry,  such  as  seldom  comes 
from  the  human  lips.  "  What  will  become  of  me  ?  " 

The  encounter  with  the  doctor  was  in  the  highest  de- 
gree dangerous  to  the  old  woman's  plans,  and  she  resolved 
that  it  should  not  occur  again. 

"  If  I  bring  her  here  every  day,  he  will  see  her 
again,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  No — no ;  that  will  not  do." 

For  a  few  moments  she  remained  in  deep  thought, 
and  then  a  smile  of  triumph  came  over  her  face  which 
was  fiendish,  and  she  said  to  Louise  : 

"  Look  here,  child,  1  am  a  good  woman.  You  have 
been  complaining  that  I  always  take  you  to  the  same 
places.  Now,  to-morrow,  we  will  look  for  your  sister  in 
some  other  part  of  the  city." 

"  Ah,  madame,"  said  Louise,  gratefully,  "  I  thank  you. 
I  have  but  one  hope  left,  to  find  my  dear  sister,  my  dear 
Henriette." 

Now  that  all  hope  of  ever  recovering  her  sight,  which 
had  been  so  suddenly  raised,  was  taken  from  her,  her 
soul  cried  out  more  anxiously  than  ever,  if  such  a  thing 
could  be  possible,  for  the  sister  who  had  been  so  cruelly 
taken  from  her. 


Pierre  covered  her  with   his  coat." 

—  Page  107. 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  105 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

SYMPATHY  AND  LOVE. 

PIERRE  and  Jacques  returned  as  soon  as  the  doctor 
had  gone  away,  and  Jacques,  who  had  waited  long  for 
some  money,  said : 

"  Well,  mother,  how  is  business  ?  " 

This  question  had  reminded  the  old  woman  of  the 
money  the  doctor  had  given  Louise,  and  she  said  quickly 
as  she  opened  the  poor  girl's  hand  with  no  gentle  force  : 

"  Yes — yes ;  what  did  the  doctor  give  you  ?  " 

"  That,  madame,"  replied  Louise,  as  the  old  hag  took 
the  money.  This  was  Jacques'  opportunity,  aud  he  was 
not  a  man  to  let  such  a  chance  miss  him. 

Before  his  mother  could  tell  of  what  amount  the  coin 
•was,  he  had  taken  it  from  her,  and  after  examining  it, 
exclaimed: 

"  Gold !  What  thieves  these  doctors  must  be ;  it's  a 
gold  piece,"  and  he  coolly  put  it  into  his  pocket,  and 
was  about  to  go  away,  when  his  mother  cried  out : 

"  But  that  is  mine." 

"  Eh  ?  never  mind,  mother,"  he  said,  as  he  put  his 
arm  around  her  neck,  and  forced  her  to  go  with  him. 
*'  I'll  treat  you  to  some  brandy." 

"  With  my  own  money,  brigand,"  said  the  old  woman, 
completely  mollified  by  her  son's  small  show  of  affec- 
tion, and  perfectly  willing  to  accompany  her  villain  of 
ft  son  on  his  orgy. 

But  a  thought  of  business  came  over  her  just  as  she 
was  leaving,  and  she  turned  long  enough  to  say  in  her 
shrill,  angry  voice  to  Louise : 

"Look  you,  they  will  be  coming  out  of  the  church 
soon ;  now  sing  out  loud.  No  laziness,  mind  what  T. 
•ay,  for  I'll  be  watching  you." 


100  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

14  Yes,  madame,"  replied  Louise,  meekly. 

"Pierre  I  Where  is  that  lazy  scamp?  "  cried  the  old 
woman,  who  had  not  seen  the  poor  cripple  who  stood  ID 
the  angle  of  one  of  the  buildings,  until  her  voice  called 
him  to  come  forward.  "  Here,  put  her  on  the  church 
steps." 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  Pierre,  going  toward  the  blind 
girl,  thankful  of  an  opportunity  even  of  touching  the  in- 
nocent girl's  hand. 

But  Jacques  was  opposed  to  his  doing  even  that,  for 
as  Pierre  was  about  to  take  hold  of  Louise's  wasted 
hand,  he  pushed  him  rudely  aside,  and  in  a  rough  voice, 
said: 

"  Never  mind,  Cupid,  you  need  not  trouble  yourself. 
I'll  take  care  of  her." 

Louise  shrunk  from  his  touch,  but  he  never  let  such 
trifles  as  that  deter  him  ;  in  fact,  he  preferred  that  even 
the  sound  of  his  voice  should  give  pain,  and  taking  her 
rudely  by  the  hand,  he  led  her  to  the  steps  of  the  church, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  her. 

"Yes — yes,"  he  said,  half  to  himself,  "she  is  devilish 
good-looking,  considering  she's  blind." 

"  You  stay  here,  and  see  that  no  one  speaks  to  her,'* 
said  the  old  woman  to  Pierre. 

"  I  will  watch  her!  "  replied  the  cripple,  with  a  look 
of  devotion  to  the  poor  girl  such  as  one  might  give  to 
the  picture  of  the  Madonna. 

"  There's  no  danger  that  he'll  let  any  one  run  away 
with  her,  is  there,  Cupid  ?  "  laughed  Jacques,  as  he 
started  off  with  his  mother. 

For  some  time  after  mother  and  son  had  gone  away, 
Pierre  stood  gazing  on  the  wasted  form  of  the  poor  blind 
girl,  while  the  great  tears  of  sympathy  and  love  filled 
his  eyes  and  trickled  down  his  distorted  face. 

Seated  upon  the  cold  stone  steps,  which  were  covered 


THE  TWO  ORPHANi.  107 

with  inow  and  ice,  and  witli  scanty  clothing  to  shield 
her  from  the  piercing  wind  and  falling  snow,  the  poor 
girl  shook  with  the  cold  like  one  in  an  ague  fit. 

It  was  a  sight  which  cut  the  honest,  tender  Pierre  to 
the  heart,  but  yet  he  had  nothing  with  which  to  covei 
her,  save  the  ragged  coat  which  he  wore,  and  the  loss  of 
that  would  leave  his  body  almost  naked. 

Only  for  a  moment  did  he  hesitate,  and  then,  drawing 
off  the  only  garment  in  which  there  was  any  warmth,  he 
went  toward  Louise. 

"  I  am  so  very  cold,"  shivered  the  poor  girl,  as  she 
tried  to  wrap  the  miserable  sack  she  wore  more  closely 
around  her. 

Pierre  covered  her  with  the  coat,  and  stood  exposed  to 
all  the  merciless  fury  of  the  storm,  thankful  that  he  was 
able  to  do  her  this  service. 

"  Is  that  you,  Pierre  ?  "  asked  the  young  girl,  as  she 
felt  him  covering  her  with  the  garment. 

"  Yes,  mamzelle,"  replied  the  cripple,  breathing  upon 
his  fingers,  which  were  rapidly  becoming  purple  from  the 
intense  cold. 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  you,  Pierre,  you  are  the  only  one 
who  is  kind  to  me.  But  this  is  your  coat,"  she  said,  as 
she  felt  the  garment.  "  What  will  you  do  without  it, 
Pierre  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  do  very  well  without  it,  mamzelle,"  replied 
Pierre,  vainly  trying  to  keep  his  teeth  from  chattering, 
and  at  the  same  time  telling  a  falsehood  in  order  to  in- 
duce the  girl  to  keep  the  coat.  "  I  have  a  jacket,  and  a 
woolen  waistcoat,  and  my — oh,  that  is  only  my  over- 
coat. Besides,  I  am  very  warm,  very  warm  indeed!" 

Even  while  the  honest  fellow  was  speaking,  he  was 
obliged  to  move  around  to  keep  the  blood  in  circulation, 
he  was  so  rapidly  becoming  chilled. 

"  Pierre,"  said  Louise,  earnestly,  "  without  you  I  she  old 


108  THE  TWO  ORPHAWB. 

die;  without  your  help  I  shouldn't  have  strength  to 
endure  my  sufferings." 

Again  the  tears  came  into  the  cripple's  eyes ;  but  this 
time  they  were  tears  of  joy  as  well  as  sorrow. 

He  was  happy  at  the  words  which  Louise  uttered,  for 
they  showed  him  that  she  thought  of  him,  depended  on 
him,  and  his  heart,  which  was  so  hungry  for  the  love 
of  some  one,  rejoiced. 

"I  know  they  make  you  wretched,"  he  said,  sadly. 
"  My  heart  bleeds  at  the  sufferings  they  inflict  on  you ; 
but  I  am  helpless — helpless.  I  can  do  nothing — noth- 
ing I" 

These  despairing  words,  which  the  thought  of  his  own 
weakness  wrung  from  Pierre's  heart,  touched  Louise 
deeply,  and  she  tried  to  comfort  him. 

"  Is  your  sympathy,  your  compassion  nothing  ?  "  she 
asked,  in  a  tender  voice,  and  as  she  took  hold  of  the  coat 
he  had  placed  upon  her  shoulders,  she  added :  "  Even 
now  I  have  to  thank  you.  Yes,  your  pity,  your  kind- 
ness sustain  me." 

As  she  said  this,  she  arose  and  took  Pierre's  hand  in 
her  own. 

In  doing  so,  she  touched  his  arm,  which  was  partly 
covered  by  his  thin,  ragged  shirt,  and  in  an  instant  she 
understood  what  he  had  done. 

"  Oh,  how  selfish  I  am ! "  she  said,  aa  she  took  the 
coat  from  off  her  shoulders. 

"  No — no ! "  cried  Pierre,  trying  to  prevent  her  from 
doing  so,  and  refusing  to  take  it  back. 

"Pierre,  do  take  it,"  she  almost  begged  him.  "My 
dear  Pierre,  for  my  sake  take  it  I  " 

Pierre  could  not  resist  the  entreaty,  and  very  reluct- 
antly did  he  again  put  his  coat  on. 

"I  am  not  cold  now,"  she  said,  struggling  not  to  be- 
tray the  intense  suffering  which  was  hers,  as  the  chilling 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  109 

snow  again  fel1.  upon  her  almost,  unprotected  shoulders  j 
"  and  if  I  were,  am  I  not  accustomed  to  suffering  ?  Did 
they  not  leave  me  in  the  cold  garret  to  starve,  because  I 
refused  to  beg  ?  But,  alas !  I  must  beg,  or  die  and  lose 
all  my  hope  of  seeing  my  dear  Henriette  once  more  I " 

The  wail  of  sorrow  which  accompanied  the  words  so 
moved  Pierre,  tbat  for  a  moment  he  was  unable  to 
apeak. 

"  Have  you  never  thought  of  escaping  ?  "  he  asked,  at 
last.  "  I  can  assist  you.  Let  me  inform  the  police,  and 
they  will  protect  you." 

"  No— no,"  replied  Louise,  quickly,  "  you  must  not.  I 
have  thought  of  it,  but  that  would  deprive  me  of  the 
only  chance  of  finding  my  sister.  They  would  shut  me 
up  in  an  asylum  for  the  blind,  and  then  I  should  be  lost 
to  her  forever.  Besides,  I  have  an  idea  that  sustains  me, 
and  my  only  hope.  If  they  take  me  from  one  quarter 
of  the  city  to  the  other,  perhaps  some  day  my  voice  may 
reach  my  sister's  ears.  I  will  sing  the  same  songs  we 
learned  together,  and  when  I  finish,  I  will  cry  out, 
1  Henriette  I  'tis  I,  your  sister  Louise !  Do  you  not  hear 
me,  Henriette,  sister  ?  '  " 

As  the  poor  girl  thus  repeated  the  cry  which  she 
hoped  would  lead  her  to  her  dear  sister,  her  voice  un- 
consciously arose  to  a  louder  pitch,  until  the  last  words 
were  uttered  with  all  her  strength,  and  she  seemed  to 
think  that  even  there  she  might  be  heard  by  her  sister. 

At  the  same  time  the  organ  from  the  church  swelled 
out  a  hymn  of  praise  to  God  that  seemed  almost  like 
mockery,  for  here,  at  the  very  steps  of  God's  temple, 
was  there  not  one  of  His  children  in  deepest  despair,  who 
had  been  cursed  by  man,  and  suffering  an  affliction  which 
God  had  visited  upon  her, -perhaps  for  the  sins  of  her 
father  ? 

But  the  ways  of  God  are  past  finding  out,  and  io  Hia 


110  THE  TWO  OBPHANS. 

own  good  time  He  will  pour  His  balm  upon  the  stricken 
one's  heart,  and  in  tne  fullness  oi"  His  love  remove  all 
sorrow  and  care  from  her  pure  life. 

Pierre  feared  lest  his  mother  should  hear  her  cry,  ancj 
he  knew  by  the  sound  of  the  organ  that  the  service  was 
concluded,  therefore  he  said,  soothingly : 

"Hush,  Louise,  they  will  hear  you.  The  service  is 
over,  and  mother  will  be  coming  back  to  watch  youv" 

"  And  if  she  does  not  hear  me  sing  she  will  beat  me." 

And  the  poor  creature  commenced  to  sing  in  a  low 
voice  just  as  the  richly  dressed  throng  began  to  pour 
out  of  church,  brushing,  without  thought,  the  poor  blind 
girl  with  their  elegant  robes. 

The  feeble,  but  sweet  voice  attracted  none  of  the 
worshipers  ;  they  were  so  much  occupied  with  thoughts 
of  God,  which  the  good  priest  had  instilled  into  their 
minds,  that  they  did  not  see  one  of  His  children  who 
was  singing  her  life  away. 

Among  the  last  who  came  from  the  house  of  God  was 
the  Countess  de  Linieres,  and  upon  her  face  was  the 
same  look  of  sadness  which  seemed  habitual  to  it. 

"  I  have  prayed  to  Heaven  to  restore  me  my  child," 
she  said,  half  to  herself.  "  Will  my  prayer  never  be 
answered  ?  " 

The  sad  song  which  Louise  was  singing  arrested  her 
attention,  and  stirred  strange  emotions  in  her  breast. 

"  "V^hat  a  voice!  How  tender  and  how  sad  I  It 
awakens  pity  akin  to  pain.  Gracious  Heaven  1  what  is 
the  meaning  of  that  fixed  look  ?  "  And  bending  over 
the  poor  beggar,  she  asked  :  "  My  child,  can  you  not  sea 
me?" 

"  No,  madame,"  was  Louise's  low,  sad  answer. 

"  Poor  child  I  "  exclaimed  the  countess. 

"  Do  you  pity  me,  madame?  "  and  Louise  asked  tt*» 
question  almost  wonderingly,  little  dreaming  how  much 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  Ill 

right  she  bad  to  claim  pity  and  love  from  the  aristocratic 
lady  who  was  bending  over  her. 

As  the  blind  girl  spoke  she  felt  a  hard  grip  upon  her 
arm,  and  she  knew  that  Mother  Frochard  was  listening 
to  whatever  she  might  say. 

The  Countess  de  Linieres  saw  the  hard-featured  old 
hag,  and  she  could  not  but  wonder  at  the  marked  con* 
trast  between  the  two. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CHARITY  AND  PITY. 

THE  blind  girl's  question,  "  Do  you  pity  me,  madame  ?M 
aroused  all  the  great  flood  of  sympathy  which  the  count- 
ess was  so  well  known  to  have,  and  it  was  with  evident 
emotion  that  she  answered  : 

"  Pity  you  ?  indeed,  I  do,  my  child !  " 

The  words  fell  with  a  sweet  sound  on  the  poor  girl's 
ears,  and  she  stepped  nearer  the  kind  lady,  regardless  of 
the  proximity  of  the  old  hag,  who  was  doing  all  in  her 
power  to  make  the  poor  young  life  wretched. 

"  You  pity  me  because  I  am  blind,"  she  said,  in  a 
touching  voice.  "  Alas,  madame,  that  is  not  my  greatest 
misfortune." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  kind-hearted  lady, 
in  surprise.  "  Speak,  child,  I  am  rich,  perhaps  I  can — " 

"  Ah  I  if  I  dared !  "  exclaimed  Louise,  bracing  her- 
eelf  to  tell  her  story  to  this  lady  who  spoke  to  her  in 
such  pitying  accents,  and  who  could  do  so  much  toward 
aiding  her  to  find  her  sister. 

But  Mother  Frochard,  who  had  heard  Louise's  words, 
had  no  intention  of  allowing  the  conversation  to  proceed 
any  further,  and  §  he  grasped  the  blind  girl's  tender  arm 


112  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

between  her  hard  and  wicked  fingers,  inflicting  a  hurt 
which  caused  the  poor  girl  to  cry  out  with  pain. 

"  Eh — eh  ?  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  old  hag,  as  she 
pressed  her  fat,  dirty  face  close  to  the  aristocratic  feat- 
ures of  the  countess,  while  her  small  gray  eyes  watched 
the  lady's  face  as  if  to  find  out  what  Louise  had  already 
told. 

"  You  have  a  relative — a  mother  ?  "  asked  the  countess 
of  Louise,  utterly  ignoring  La  Frochard's  impertinent  in- 
terruption. 

"  Mother  1 "  exclaimed  the  blind  girl,  in  tones  of  deep- 
est despair. 

In  that  one  word  all  the  wretchedness  of  her  hard  lot 
was  embodied,  and  her  very  soul  seemed  to  go  out  with 
the  word. 

Louise  had  spoken  before  her  tormentor  could  prevent 
her;  but  the  old  woman  avenged  herself  by  another 
wicked  pinch,  and  at  the  same  time  speaking  quickly, 
as  if  to  prevent  the  lady  from  noticing  the  blind  girl's 
tone. 

"  Yes,  my  beautiful  lady,"  she  said  in  her  shrill,  coarse 
tones,  while  she  screwed  her  face  up  into  what  she  in- 
tended as  a  most  humble  smile,  "  she  has  a  good  mother, 
if  I  do  say  so." 

"  Is  this  your  daughter?  "  asked  the  countess,  in  great 
surprise,  as  she  gazed  at  the  two,  now  side  by  side,  and 
compared  the  slight,  shrinking,  beautiful  girl  with  the 
fawning,  fat  and  coarse  old  woman  who  thus  claimed  to 
be  the  mother  of  one  who  resembled  her  as  little  as  do 
the  angels  resemble  those  imps  of  Satan  that  torment 
lost  souls. 

"  The  youngest  of  seven  that  Heaven  has  blest  me 
witn,  my  lady,"  replied  the  old  woman,  as  she  dropped 
a  stiff  courtesy,  and  tried  to  put  on  a  resigned  and  coo- 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  113 

iented  look.  "  That  is  what  the  darling  wa§  going  to 
tell  you — isn't  it,  deary  ?  " 

A  fierce,  sly  blow  in  the  back  warned  the  trembling 
Louise  what  her  fate  would  be  if  she  did  not  answer  as 
the  old  hag  told  her  to  ;  but  in  spite  of  the  old  woman's 
threats,  the  poor  girl  could  not  thus  tell  a  falsehood,  and 
in  addition  destroy  the  faint  hope  of  seeing  her  sister 
that  the  countess's  kind  words  bad  caused  to  spring  up 
in  her  bosom. 

"  I — I — "  she  stammered  in  her  attempt  to  reply,  but 
another  vicious  blow  from  La  Frochard  caused  her  to 
reel,  and  almost  lose  her  breath. 

As  if  she  was  afflicted  with  an  excess  of  motherly 
love,  the  old  woman  went  toward  the  trembling  girl  and 
under  pretence  of  supporting,  took  her  by  the  arm  in  a 
manner  that  caused  Louise  the  most  intense  pain,  and 
at  the  same  time  almost  prevented  her  from  speaking. 

Then,  with  her  false  smile  and  affectation  of  tender- 
ness, she  asked — or,  it  would  seen  more  proper  to  say, 
answered  for  Louise : 

"  Certainly.     Isn't  it  so,  my  dear?  " 

"  She  seems  to  be  ill,  and  suffering,"  said  the  countess, 
as  she  saw  how  badly  the  poor  girl  trembled,  and  attrib- 
uting it  to  physical  weaknesses,  rather  than  emotion, 
reared  that  she  was  sick,  and  concluded  that  that  was 
the  reason  why  Louise  had  not  answered  her  question. 

"Ah  1  good,  charitable  souls  like  you,  my  lady,  have 
pity  on  her,"  replied  the  old  woman,  in  her  whining 
voice,  that  grated  on  Louise's  ears,  and  even  caused  her 
to  shrink  away  as  if  in  pain.  "She  has  a  nice,  good 
home.  Haven't  you,  my  dear?  " 

As  the  old  hag  asked  this  question  of  Louise,  she 
clutched  her  more  firmly  by  the  arm,  and  in  a  low, 
hoarse  voice,  whispered : 

"Sneak  out  1" 


114  THE  TWO  OBPHAlfS. 

"  Yea — yes,"  faltered  Louise. 

Fearing  lest  the  countess  should  begin  to  have  some 
suspicion  of  the  real  state  of  affairs,  La  Frochard  stepped 
in  front  of  Louise,  and  thus  prevented  her  from  saying 
anything  further. 

"Give  this  to  your  mother,  and  pray  for  me,"  said  the 
countess,  as  she  handed  the  poor  girl  a  gold  piece,  and 
entered  her  sedan  chair,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  out 
of  sight. 

Until  the  chair  in  which  the  countess  was  seated  was 
out  of  sight,  Mother  Frochard  watched  it  narrowly,  and 
stood  in  a  motherly  sort  of  attitude  near  Louise  ;  but  as 
soon  as  the  last  one  of  the  servants  in  the  De  Linieree 
livery  had  turned  the  corner,  she  grasped  the  money 
eagerly  and  with  no  gentle  force. 

"  Ah,  a  louis,  another  gold  piece !  It  has  been  a  good 
day,  after  all." 

And  carefully  placing  the  money  in  her  capacious 
pocket,  the  old  woman  looked  anxiously  around  to  see 
which  one  of  the  many  streets  that  met  at  the  square 
offered  the  best  facilities  for  her  business. 

At  length  she  decided  on  her  route,  and  going  up  to 
Louise,  she  seized  her  roughly  by  the  hand,  then  gave 
her  arm  a  pinch  by  way  of  reminder,  and  said,  in  her 
hard,  stern  voice : 

"  Come  on  now,  and  sing  out.     Sing,  I  tell  you  1 " 

Thus  commanded,  the  poor  girl  began  in  a  low  voice 
that  trembled  with  suppressed  emotion,  and  the  two 
walked  slowly  away,  while  the  old  hag  continued  her 
shrill,  monotonous  cry  of — 

14  Charity,   good   people ;  charity    for   a   poor    blind 

girl!" 

Jacques  and  Pierre  had  been  silent  witnesses  of  the 
scene  between  the  countess  and  Louise,  and  nothing  but 
the  number  of  people  that  were  passing  prevented 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  115 

Jacques  adding  the  louis  given  by  the  countess  to  some 
liquor-dealer's  hoard. 

When  La  Frochard  and  Louise  went  on  their  way, 
Pierre  started  to  follow  them,  in  order  that  he  might 
have  the  satisfaction  of  gazing  upon  the  slight  form  o' 
the  blind  girl,  if  only  from  a  distance;  but  he  was 
stopped  by  Jacques'  brutal  voice : 

"  Stop  1 "  he  cried,  in  an  angry  tone,  "  I  have  a  word  to 
say  to  you." 

For  an  instant  the  cripple  did  not  heed  the  voice  ;  but 
the  thought  of  what  his  brother  might  do  caused  him  to 
stop,  turn  half  round,  and  ask  : 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  forbid  you  to  follow  Louise  ! "  exclaimed  Jacques, 
in  an  angry  voice. 

"  What !  you  forbid  ?  "  asked  Pierre,  as  if  he  doubted 
that  he  had  heard  aright. 

"  Yes,  and  forbid  you  to  even  think  of  her ! " 

This  time  Jacques'  voice  was  full  of  rage,  and  he 
looked  as  if  he  was  about  to  spring  upon  his  deformed 
brother,  and  kill  him  then  and  there,  because  he  even 
dared  to  cast  his  eyes  in  the  direction  the  blind  girl  had 
taken. 

It  was  evident  that  this  brute  of  a  man  who  knew  no 
other  pleasure  than  drinking,  or  making  others  suffer, 
had,  in  his  brutal  way,  fallen  in  love  with  the  poor  girl, 
whom  he  delighted  to  torment. 

"Jacques,  I  can  not  help  it!"  said  Pierre,  in  an  al- 
most imploring  tone.  "  You  would  not  be  so  cruel.  No 
—no,  Jacques.  Why  are  you  so  cruel  ?  " 

"Never  mind  why;  I  forbid  you,  that  is  enough  ;  if 
you  dare  to  disobey  me,  I'll  break  those  misah&pen  legs 
over  again,  Cupid  !  " 

As  kie  said  tins,  he  dealt  the  poor  cripple  a  cruel  blow, 


116  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

which  knocked  him  down,  as  a  mild  way  of  enforcing 
his  commands. 

"  Ah !  kill  me — kill  me,  if  you  will,"  said  Pierre,  as 
he  slowly  arose  from  the  ground,  and  in  a  low  voice  he 
added :  "  But  I  do  love  her,  and  you  can  not  forbid 
that." 

Jacques  cast  a  look  of  scorn  and  contempt  at  the 
cripple,  who  stood  shivering  like  one  in  an  ague  fit,  and 
then  lighting  an  inseparable  companion — a  short  clay 
pipe — moved  away  in  the  direction  of  the  nearest  cab- 
aret. 

For  a  few  moments  the  poor  boy,  who  had  been  de- 
formed by  the  brother  who  should  have  protected  instead 
of  beaten  him,  stood  in  a  dejected  attitude.  He  knew 
full  well  why  Jacques  had  forbidden  him  to  think  of 
Louise,  and  he  shuddered  as  he  thought  of  additional 
cruelty  which  the  poor  girl  would  have  to  suffer,  be- 
cause of  the  love  which  Jacques — cruel,  hard-hearted 
Jacques — had  conceived  for  her. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AN   HONEST  LOVE. 

WE  will  return  to  Henriette,  who,  like  her  sister^ 
was  living  in  the  hope  of  meeting  the  one  who  had  been 
so  cruelly  torn  from  her  by  the  rude  hands  of  unscrupu- 
lous men. 

She  is  seated  in  a  poorly  furnished  attic  room  engaged 
at  sewing,  while  her  thoughts  wander  back  to  the  fatal 
night  when,  strangers  in  the  great  city,  the  two  unpro- 
tected girls  were  doomed  by  a  hard,  unyielding  fate  to 
wander  apart,  seeking,  but  never  finding  the  other. 

While  she  was  thus  engaged,  a  low  knock  was  heard 
at  the  door,  and  the  Chevalier  de  Vaudrey  entered. 


/HE  TWO   ORPHANS.  117 

A  careless  observer  would  have  seen  that  he  was  a 
lover,  and  that  the  object  of  his  adoration  was  before 
him. 

"Henriette,"  he  said,  tenderly,  taking  her  hands  and 
pressing  them  to  his  lips.  "Have  you  heard  anything? 
You  seem  agitated." 

"I  was  expecting  you,  I  mean — I  thought  perhaps 
you  would  bring  me  news  of  Louise,"  replied  the  fair 
girl,  in  pretty  confusion. 

u  No,  I  have  heard  nothing,"  replied  the  chevalier,  re- 
gretfully. "  Yet  you  know  I  have  occupied  myself  un- 
ceasingly for  the  past  three  months  in  vain  endeavors  to 
ascertain  her  fate.  But  to-day,  Henriette,  I  wished  to 
speak  to  you  of  something  else — of  myself." 

"  I  know,  monsieur,  all  that  you  would  say  to  me," 
replied  Henriette,  in  a  low,  sweet  voice.  "  I  know  that 
you  rescued  me  at  the  risk  of  your  own  life,  from  a 
frightful  peril,  and  believe  me,  I  am  not  ungrateful." 

"  Henriette,  do  you  feel  no  other  sentiment  than  grat- 
itude ?  Do  you  not  understand  my  heart  ?  Until  yes- 
terday, I  was  bound  in  honor  to  impose  silence  on  my 
love ;  circumstances  have  released  me,  and  to-day  I  can, 
and  dare,  avow  with  pride  that  I  love  you." 

The  young  man  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  expecting 
the  young  girl  to  speak  ;  but  as  she  kept  silent,  he  con- 
tinued,  in  a  deep,  manly  voice : 

"  Henriette,  mine  is  not  a  trifling,  frivolous  love.  1 
loved  you  from  the  moment  when  I  first  saw  you  cour- 
ageously defending  your  honor  with  prayers,  with  threats, 
and  with  tears.  I  loved  you  from  the  moment  your  inno- 
cence appealed  to  my  manhood,  and  I  swear  to  you  be- 
fore Heaven,  that  this  love,  born  in  an  instant,  shall  end 
only  with  my  life." 

"  Oh,  this  ia  wrong — wrong,"  said  Henriette,  as  the 
great  tears  of  gratitude  came  welling  up  in  her  eyes.  "I 


118  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

have  known  too  long  all  that  your  heart  was  striving  to 
hide  from  me,  and  I  have  been  guilty  to  allow  it  to  dis- 
tract me  from  the  only  duty  I  have  in  life.  You  should 
not  compel  me  to  confess  my  weakness." 

"Henriette!  "  exclaimed  the  chevalier,  reproachfully. 

"Leave  me  to  my  sacred  task,  and  when  Louise  is 
Restored  to  my  arms,  I  shall  have  earned  the  right  to  be 


"  Henriette,  dear  Henriette  —  "  began  De  Vaudrey,  but 
he  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  an  in- 
Btant  after,  the  round,  smiling  and  inquisitive  face  of 
Picard  was  seen  at  the  half-opened  door. 

"  Picard  I  "  exclaimed  the  chevalier,  in  surprise  at  see- 
ing his  valet. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  it  is  Picard,  only  Picard,"  said  the 
valet,  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"  What  do  you  want?  What  brings  you  here  ?  "  and 
De  Yaudrey's  voice,  usually  so  soft,  was  now  harsh  and 
angry. 

"  The  fellow  is  my  valet,"  he  added,  in  a  low  tone,  to 
Henriette. 

"  Yes,  mamzelle,"  said  the  valet,  with  an  equivocal 
bow.  "  I  am  Picard,  the  discreet,"  and  he  thought  to 
himself,  "this  must  be  the  chambermaid,  and  he  is  in 
her  room.  Oh,  he  is  doing  well." 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?  "  asked  the  chevalier,  impa- 
tiently. 

"A  communication  for  you,  sir,  of  the  greatest  im» 
portance,"  answered  Picard,  with  an  important  air. 

"  I  must  take  my  work  down-stairs,  they  are  waiting 
for  it,"  said  Henriette,  thinking  that  the  valet  had 
something  of  a  private  nature  to  say  to  his  master. 

"  You  will  return  ?  "  asked  De  Vaudrey,  very  anxi- 
ously. 

"  Oh,  yea,  in  a  few  minutes." 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  119 

"  She  will  return,"  said  Picard,  to  himself;  "  well, 
that  is  good.  Mistress  below  stairs,  and  a  pretty  cham- 
bermaid up  here.  This  is  the  young  man  who  studied 
philosophy,"  and  a  self-satisfied  smile  passed  over  his 
face  as  he  thought  that  his  master  was  walking  in  the 
way  he  admired. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  De  Vaudrey,  as  soon  as  the  door 
closed  and  they  were  alone,  "  we  are  alone  now.  What 
brings  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  took  the  liberty  of  following  you,  monsieur,"  re- 
plied Picard,  in  a  saucy  voice. 

"  Following  me,  you  scoundrel ! "  exclaimed  the  cheva- 
lier, in  an  angry  tone. 

"  Scoundrel  is  good,  very  good,"  said  Picard,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  Now  he  is  something  like  a  master." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"I  was  saying,  monsieur,  that  scoundrel  is  not  half 
strong  enough,  particularly  when  I  come  to  find  out 
that,  after  all— 

"After  all!     What?" 

And  De  Vaudrey  was  fast  losing  his  temper;  a  state 
in  which  the  valet  seemed  most  anxious  to  see  him. 

"  Good,  he  will  kick  me  in  a  minute,"  thought  Picard, 
as  he  said,  in  an  impudent  sort  of  way : 

"  You  must  know,  monsieur,  that  I  had  become  so 
disgusted  with  your  conduct  that  I  begged  your  unde 
to  relieve  me  of  serving  you  any  longer^  and  if  he  had 
not  insisted  on  my  remaining  and  watching  you 

"So  you  have  become  a  spy,  Master  Picard,  have 
you?  "  interrupted  De  Yaudrey,  in  an  angry  voice. 

"Yes,  sir,  a  spy  on  you.  Why,  monsieur,  if  I  had 
not,  how  should  I  have  found  out  that  you  was  a  gallant 
and  a  roub  ?  " 

".Seme/"  exclaimed  the  chevalier,  who  was  now  r«- 


120  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

gaining  his  temper,  and  becoming  amused.  "  Well,  how 
did  you  find  that  out?" 

"  By  obeying  the  instructions  of  your  uncle.  I  fol- 
lowed you  to  the  house  of  your  inamorata,  and  instead 
of  finding  you  with  that  much- honored  lady,  I  discovei 
you  enjoying  the  society  of  her  chambermaid." 

"  Chambermaid !  "  exclaimed  De  Vaudrey,  not  under- 
standing  at  first  what  his  valet  meant. 

"Oh,  you  have  the  fairest  of  excuses,"  said  Picard,  in 
a  light  tone.  "  She  is  as  pretty  as — 

"Look  you,  Master  Picard,"  cried  the  chevalier,  now 
thoroughly  enraged,  "  another  word,  and  I  will  throw 
you  out  of  that  window." 

"  Oh,  that  is  going  further  than  I  bargained  for,"  said 
Picard,  getting  a  little  alarmed.  "  Thrown  out  of  a  sixth 
story  window." 

"  Listen  to  me,  sir,"  said  De  Vaudrey,  sternly. 

"  I  am  all  ears,  monsieur,  but  please  remember  that 
we  are  very  high  up,"  and  Picard  made  a  grimace  that 
was  inexpressively  comical. 

"  Keturn  at  once  to  the  count,  and  tell  him  that  after 
having  dogged  my  footsteps  day  by  day,  you  have  at 
last  found  me  in  the  presence  of  the  woman  I  love." 

"  You  mean  the  chambermaid  of  the  woman  you  love. 
Same  thing,"  said  Picard,  flippantly. 

"Silence,  sir!  1  tell  you  that  you  have  seen  the 
woman  I  love,  and  you  may  inform  the  count  that  she 
is  to  be  my  wife,"  and  De  Vaudrey's  voice  rang  out  loud 
and  clear,  while  a  proud  light  in  his  eyes  showed  how 
much  of  honor  he  felt  it  would  be  for  him  if  the  woman 
of  his  choice  should  consent  to  marry  him. 

"Eh,  your  wife?  "  exclaimed  Picard,  in  surprise. 

"Silence,  sir,  she  is  coming." 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  opened,  and  Henrietta  entered 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  121 

the  room.     Her  beautiful  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  and 
her  face  was  expressive  of  the  deepest  misery. 

With  that  abandon  which  grief  imparts,  she  threw 
herself  into  a  chair,  and  laying  her  head  on  the  table, 
sobbed  as  though  her  heart  would  break. 

"  Shame — shame  I  I  am  sure  I  do  not  deserve  TO  be 
so  insulted,"  she  sobbed,  half  to  herself. 

"  What  is  it,  Henriette  ?  Who  has  insulted  you  ?  " 
asked  De  Vaudrey,  while  the  fire  that  flashed  from  hia 
eyes  boded  no  good  for  the  insulter. 

"  I  am  ordered  to  leave  the  house,"  replied  Henriette, 
still  sobbing. 

"  Ordered  to  leave  the  house  ?  Why  ? "  and  the  cher- 
alier  seemed  to  be  in  a  perfect  whirl  of  amazement. 

"  Alas,  monsieur,  they  tell  me  that  a  young  girl,  liv- 
ing alone,  has  not  the  right  to  receive  the  visits  of  gen- 
tlemen such  as  you," 

"  Such  as  I  ?  I  who  have  always  treated  you  with 
the  respect  due  a  sister  ?  " 

"  A  moment  ago  she  was  his  wife,"  said  Picard,  who 
had  been  eagerly  listening  to  the  dialogue,  to  hiinselfj 
"  now  she  is  his  sister.  Oh,  it's  all  right." 

"  The  mistress  of  the  house,  who  until  now  has  been 
so  kind  to  me,  says  she  cannot  permit  me  to  remain,  foi 
she  has  a  good  name  to  protect,  which,  my  conduct  scan- 
dalizes," continued  Henriette,  in  a  low,  sad  voice. 
•'  What  could  I  say  ?  She  has  ordered  me  to  leave  at 
once." 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  said  Picard,  in  a  sympathizing  voice^ 
"Monsieur,  I  say  this  is  unjust,  this  is — is " 

"  Shameful  I  "  exclaimed  De  Vaudrey,  whose  indigna- 
tion at  first  prevented  him  from  speaking. 

"Certainly  it  is  shameful,"  said  Picard,  earnestly. 
"Mamzelle,  I  will  go  to  that  woman  myself.  I'll  tell 
bar  you  ar«  not  yet — that  is,  I  mean  that— that  he — thai 


122  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

I — I  don't  know  what  I  mean,"  and  the  valet,  who, 
despite  his  love  for  adventures,  was  really  a  good-hearted, 
honest  fellow,  turned  away  to  hide  the  tears  which 
sprung  to  his  eyes. 

"  Henriette,"  said  the  chevalier,  tenderly,  "dry  your 
tears.  You  shall  leave  this  house  to  enter  mine." 

"That  is  pretty  cool!"  exclaimed  the  valet,  in  sur- 
prise, but  in  so  low  a  tone  that  his  master  did  not  hear 
him. 

"  Not  mine  alone,"  continued  De  Vaudrey,  "  but  yours 
as  well,  for  you  shall  enter  it  on  the  arm  of  your  hus- 
band." 

"  Your  wife  I  "  exclaimed  the  weeping  girl.  "  No- 
no,  that  is  impossible." 

"  I  agree  with  you  perfectly,"  thought  Picard,  whose 
ideas  as  regards  birth  and  position  were  very  decided. 

"  Think  of  the  immeasurable  distance  which  separates 
us,"  continued  Henriette,  in  a  firm  voice.  "  Believe  that 
I  appreciate  the  generosity  which  inspires  you,  yet  my 
duty  impels  me  to  refuse." 

"  Refuse ! "  repeated  the  chevalier,  in  great  surprise. 

"Spoken  like  a  sensible  girl,"  was  Picard's  mental 
comment  upon  Henriette's  decision. 

"  How  could  I  defy  the  will  of  your  family  ?  "  said  the 
poor  girl,  speaking  half  to  herself.  "  They  are  rich  and 
powerful.  A  marriage  with  me  would  entail  their 
enmity,  even  their  persecution." 

"If  my  family  will  not  give  their  consent,  I  will  find 
means  to  compel  them,"  was  De  Vaudrey's  angry  excla- 
mation. 

"Certainly,  we'll  compel  them,"  said  Picard,  suddenly- 
espousing  the  young  girl's  cause. 

"  Picard,  my  lad,"  said  the  chevalier,  in  an  imperious 
tone,  "  we  must  go." 

"Yes,  monsieur,  we  must  go,"  was  Picard's  comment, 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  123 

as  be  handed  his  master  his  hat,  and  then  he  said,  half 
to  himself:  "  I  shall  want  to  marry  her  myself  in  a  few 
minutes." 

"  Henriette,  I  will  go  to  find  the  means  of  assuring 
our  happiness,"  said  De  Vaudrey,  going  toward  the  door. 

"  Farewell,  monsieur — farewell !  "  exclaimed  the  poor 
girl,  again  bursting  into  tears. 

"  No,  Henriette,  I  will  not  say  farewell,  I  cannot  part 
with  all  my  hopes.  I  need  them  to  give  me  courage. 
Au  revoir  I " 

"  Au  revoir  I "  exclaimed  Henriette,  as  the  door  closed 
behind  the  man  she  loved. 

Picard  had  waited  in  order  to  say  some  comforting 
words  to  the  poor  girl,  and  as  soon  as  his  master  had 
left  the  room,  he  said,  in  what  he  intended  to  be  a  polite 
tone,  but  which  failed  most  signally,  owing  to  his  emo- 
tion: 

"Mamzelle,  I  admire  you.  I  esteem  you,  I — I — 
au  revoir  !  "  and  he  rushed  out  of  the  door  to  hide  hig 
confusion. 

Left  alone,  Henriette  gave  herself  up  to  deep  reflec- 
tion. 

Should  she  throw  her  love  aside  for  duty  ?  was  the 
question  he  asked  herself  many  times,  and  hard  indeed 
was  the  struggle  in  the  poor  girl's  heart. 

On  one  side  she  saw  wealth  and  happiness,  and  on  the 
other  misery  and  privation ;  but  the  duty  she  owed  her 
sister  at  last  decided  her. 

"No,  I  will  not  see  him  again.  I  have  not  the 
strength  to  continue  this  conflict  between  love  and  duty," 
she  said,  in  an  audible  voice.  "  He  loves  me !  Oh  1  is 
it  not  a  beautiful  dream  ?  Ah  !  it  was  but  a  dream,  and 
the  awakening  has  come  to  remind  me  of  my  guilty  ne- 
glect. I  am  justly  punished,  insulted,  driven  from  this 


124  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

house.     I   must  go— go  where   I  shall  never  see  him 
again." 

And  as  she  concluded,  thus  deciding  between  her  love 
and  duty,  she  bowed  her  fair  head,  and  wept  hot,  bitter 
tears  of  sorrow  and  blighted  love. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

FOUND   AND  LOST. 

HENEIETTE  remained  in  her  grief-stricken  position  for 
some  time ;  but  she  was  suddenly  aroused  from  it  by  a 
knock  at  the  door,  and  the  entrance  of  a  lady,  richly 
dressed,  and  bearing  evident  marks  of  one  in  the  first 
circles  of  society. 

It  was  the  Countess  de  Linieres. 

"  This  is  Mademoiselle  Henriette  Girard,  I  believe?  " 
she  asked,  in  a  kind  tone. 

"  That  is  my  name,  madame,"  replied  Henriette,  in 
great  astonishment. 

"  You  have  been  warmly  recommended  to  me,  made- 
moiselle." 

"  Eeoommended  to  you,  madame  ?  " 

"  I  am  one  of  a  society  of  charitable  persons  who,  if 
the  good  report  I  have  heard  of  you  is  true,  can  assist 
you,"  said  the  countess,  thus  hiding  the  real  purport  of 
her  visit. 

"  I  am  not  in  need,  madame — alas  !  I  do  not  mean 
that.  I  mean  that  I  am  not  in  want — I  can  work." 

"  Can  I  do  nothing  for  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Henriette,  and  then,  as  if  suddenly 
recollecting  herself,  she  added,  imploringly :  "  What  do  I 
•ay  ?  Yes,  madame,  I  accept  your  aid,  nay,  I  implore  it." 

"  What  is  it  you  wish  ?  "  asked  the  countess,  in  a  kind 
tone. 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  125 

"  Madame,"  said  Henriette,  earnestly  ;  "  I  do  not  need 
money,  I  ask  for  some  shelter  where  I  can  live  and 
work,  far  from  falsehood  and  calumny,  and  away  from 
him." 

"  From  him  ?  Do  you  wish  to  escape  from  the  perse- 
cutions  of  some  one  ?  " 

"From  one  who  wishes  to  make  me  his  wife,"  re- 
plied Henriette,  sadly. 

"  His  wife  ?  "  repeated  Ihe  countess,  with  a  view  of 
causing  the  young  girl  to  say  more. 

"  I  have  refused  that  title,  and  yet  I  distrust  my 
courage  to  resist  his  entreaties." 

"  You  have  done  well,  mademoiselle,  and  it  is  my  duty 
to  speak  frankly  to  you.  I  am  a  near  relative  of  the 
chevalier's.  I  have  known  for  some  time  of  the  attach- 
ment which  exists  between  you,  and  I  defended  him 
against  the  wrath  of  his  uncle,  my  husband.  But  reflec- 
tion has  shown  me  my  duty  to  both  of  you.  The  oppo- 
sition of  his  family  renders  this  marriage  impossible." 

"  Madame,"  replied  Henriette,  with  a  tinge  of  pride  iD 
her  voice,  "I -had  determined  on  my  course  before  seeing 
you.  The  path  of  sacrifice  and  duty." 

"I  shall  not  prove  ungrateful,"  said  the  countess, 
touched  by  the  young  girl's  words.  "I  am  rich  and 
powerful." 

"  Powerful !  "  exclaimed  Henriette,  thinking,  perhapa 
•he  might  interest  her  in  Louise's  fate. 

"  If  at  any  time  I  can  show  my  appreciation  of  your 
noble  and  disinterested  conduct " 

"Madame,  you  can  I "  exclaimed  the  young  girl,  not 
noticing  that  she  was  interrupting  the  countess,  so  eager 
was  she.  "  Now,  at  this  very  instant  you  can  !  " 

"How?" 

"  Use  your  power  to  find  the  poor  child  who  "has  been 
torn  from  my  protection.  Bestore  her  to  me,  and  yoo 


126  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

'can  ask  no  sacrifice  I  will  not  make.  I  will  tear  my  Ion? 
from  my  heart,  aud  disappear  with  her  where  you  and 
yours  shall  never  see  me  more.  Do  I  ask  too  much  ?  " 

"No— nol"  answered  the  countess,  quickly.  "I 
promise  you  not  alone  my  aid,  but  that  of  the  greatest 
power  in  Paris.  Give  me  her  name,  age,  and  descrip. 
tion." 

"  A  description,  alas  I  madame,  too  easily  given.  She 
is  but  sixteen,  and  blind." 

"  Blind — blind  I  "  repeated  the  countess,  while  her 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  blind  girl  she  had  met  a  short 
time  previous. 

"  Her  name  is  Louise." 

"  Louise  1"  exclaimed  the  lady,  "that  name  is  very 
dear  to  me.  Be  comforted,  my  child,  we  will  find  your 
«ister.n 

"  She  is  not  my  sister,  madame  1 " 

"  Not  your  sister  ?  " 

"No,  madame!  but  I  owe  her  the  love  and  tender- 
ness  of  a  mother  and  sister  combined,  for  she  saved  us 
all  from  misery  and  want,  my  father,  my  mother,  and 
myself. " 

"  How  could  a  poor  blind  child  do  that  ?  "  asked  the 
countess,  in  great  surprise. 

"  My  father  found  her  on  the  steps  of  the  church " 

Henriette  was  interrupted  by  a  low  cry  from  the 
countess,  and  she  saw  that  she  had  turned  as  pale  as 
death.  She  stopped  ;  but  the  countess  said  feverishly  : 

"  On  the  steps  of  a  church  ?  Tell  me  when  and  where. 
You  say  she  saved  you  all  from  misery — how  ?  " 

"  From  poverty  so  terrible  that  my  father  .had  not 
even  bread  to  give  us).  Anxious  to  save  at  least  the  life 
of  his  child,  he  took  me,  while  my  mother  slept,  and  set 
out  toward  Notre  Dame.  Snow  covered  the  steps  of  the 
church,  and  my  father  stood  weeping  and  irresolute, 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  127 

when  suddenly  he  heard  a  plaintive  cry.  He  approached 
and  saw  a  little  baby  half  buried  under  the  snow.  He 
took  her  to  his  brea^  to  warm  her  benumbed  and  frozen 
limbs,  when  the  thought  came  to  him,  as  this  child  would 
have  died  had  he  not  arrived  in  time  to  save  it,  so  his 
own  might  die  before  help  could  reach  her.  'I  will 
leave  neither  of  them,'  he  said,  and  he  returned,  carrying 
both  infants  in  his  arms." 

The  countess's  eager  attention  to  Henriette's  words 
was  painful,  so  anxious  did  she  appear  to  hear  more. 

"  Oh,  go  on,  mademoiselle,  go  on  I  "  she  cried,  fever- 
ishly. 

"  Entering  his  home,"  said  Henriette,  continuing  her 
story,  "  he  said  to  my  mother,  '  We  had  only  one  child, 
Heaven  has  sent  us  another,'  and  he  was  right ;  Heaven 
did  reward  his  generous  action,  for,  on  opening  the  cloth- 
ing of  the  child  a  roll  of  gold  was  found,  together  with 
these  words  written  on  a  scrap  of  paper:  '  Her  name  is 
Louise — save  her.' " 

Again  a  low  cry  as  of  pain  burst  from  the  countess's 
quivering  lips,  and  had  she  not  grasped  a  chair  for  sup- 
port, she  would  have  fallen  to  the  floor. 

"  Are  you  ill,  madame  ?  "  asked  Henriette,  in  surprise, 

"  No — no— I — it  is  nothing,"  gasped  the  stricken  lady. 
"  Your  story  has  moved  me  greatly.  Then  the  infant 
fell  among  good  and  worthy  people,  did  she  not  ?  Tell 
me  all— all." 

"  Ah,  madame,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  we  loved  her." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  countess,  with  a  world  of  tenderness 
in  her  voice,  "  you  have  a  noble,  loving  heart.  Now  I 
know  why  Maurice  loves  you.  I  will  love  you  too. 
Indeed,  I  love  you  now."  And  she  clasped  the  young 
girl  in  her  arms. 

"  Then  you  will  help  ma  to  find  her  ?  "  pleaded  Hen- 
riette. 


128  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

"Help  you  1"  exclaimed  the  countess,  i a  excitement. 
"  All  Paris  shall  be  searched  from  end  to  end.  But,  gra- 
cious Heaven,  she  is  blind  !  How  is  that,  and  how  did 
you  lose  her?  Tell  me  all." 

At  this  moment  a  low,  sad,  sweet  voice  could  be  heard 
in  the  street,  and  so  strangely  familiar  did  the  voice 
sound  to  Henriette,  that  she  could  hardly  continue  hei 
story. 

"  Yes,  madame,  it  was— one  evening " 

"  Go  on,  my  child,"  said  the  countess,  as  Henriette 
paused,  aid  listened  anxiously. 

"  About — about  two  years  ago " 

Again  the  voice  was  heard,  and  again  Henriette's  agi' 
tation  became  most  intense. 

"  Two  years  ago,  well  ?  "  repeated  the  countess,  won- 
dering at  the  young  girl's  hesitation. 

"  Yes — two  years  ago — Louis — was  there " 

Henriette  could  not  talk ;  it  seemed  that  she  must  go 
to  the  window,  and  yet  it  would  not  do  to  offend  the 
lady  who  had  it  in  her  power  to  save  her  sister. 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  countess,  looking  at  Henriette  in 
astonishment.  She  had  heard  the  voice,  but  it  was  only 
that  of  a  street  beggar,  and  could  not  interest  her. 

"  She — was  then — fourteen — we  were  playing  together 
one  evening — when " 

Henriette  could  proceed  no  further. 

The  voice  had  approached  nearer,  and  could  now  be 
beard  very  distinctly. 

Henriette  had  recognized  the  voice  of  her  sister — her 
sister  who  had  been  lost  to  her  BO  long,  and  she  gave 
utterance  to  a  low  scream. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  countess,  in  alarm. 

"  Hush  I  listen  I  "  exclaimed  the  young  girl. 

Louise's  gong  could  now  be  heard  plainly. 


THE  TWO  ORPHAN!.  129 

*I  think  I  remember  that  song,"  said  the  countess 
ialf  to  herself. 

"It  is  she,  madame,  it  is  she!"  exclaimed  Kenriette, 
running  to  the  window  and  looking  out. 

At  this  moment  Louise's  plaintive  voice  could  be  heard 
calling,  in  a  tone  of  despair 

"  Henriette — Henrietta  I  do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Louise,  I  am  coming — I  am  coming  1 "  screamed 
Henriette,  in  reply,  as  she  rushed  toward  the  door. 

"It  is  I,  Louise,  your  sister,"  answered  the  voice  of 
ihe  poor  street  singer,  and  then  the  voice  ended  in  a 
wail,  as  though  cruel  hands  were  grasping  her  by  the 
throat  to  prevent  her  speaking. 

"I  cornel"  screamed  Henriette,  as  she  opened  the 
door. 

But  her  exit  was  barred  by  a  troop  of  guards,  with  the 
Count  de  Linieres  at  their  head,  who  were  just  entering 
the  chamber,  and  one  of  them  grasped  Henriette  firmly, 
thus  preventing  her  from  going  to  her  sister's  aid. 

The  agony  of  the  poor  girl  who  had  seen  her  sister  so 
near,  but  who  was  prevented  from  going  to  her,  may  be 
imagined,  but  not  written. 

She  had,  in  the  same  instant,  found  and  lost  her. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

WITHOUT  PITT. 

FOR  several  moments  Henriette  could  not  understand 
why  she  was  prevented  from  going  out. 

She  knew  f.hat  Louise  was  at  that  moment  in  the 
street  below.  She  had  seen  that  sister  for  whom  she  had 
searched  so  long,  and  just  at  that  moment  when  she 
could  clasp  her  in  her  arms  once  more,  she  found  herself 
prevented  by  a  guard  of  armed  men. 


130  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

In  her  frenzy,  she  struggled  with  the  stalwart  men, 
thinking  that  she  might  force  a  passage,  and  regain  the 
street  in  time  to  meet  her  loved  sister. 

The  countess  sunk  half  fainting  into  a  chair,  as  she 
saw  her  husband  enter  upon  an  errand  which  she  could 
guess  concerned  her,  and  she  at  once  conjectured  that 
the  Count  de  Linieres  had  discovered  the  secret  which 
for  so  many  years  she  had  guarded. 

"  Gentlemen — gentlemen,  do  not  stop  me  ! "  exclaimed 
Henriette,  as  she  saw  how  useless  her  struggles  were. 

The  men  looked  at  the  count  as  if  to  ask  for  orders, 
and  he,  rightly  interpreting  their  looks,  said  in  a  cold, 
stern  voice : 

"Do your  duty." 

In  a  moment  more  Henriette  was  seized  firmly  by  two 
of  the  guards,  who  awaited  De  Linieres'  orders  to  carry 
her  away. 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  let  me  go ! "  implored  the 
poor  girl,  turning  toward  the  count.  "  I  tell  you  I  must 
go  to  her ;  it  is  she,  do  you  not  hear  ?  Her  voice  grows 
fainter.  Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake  have  pity,  let  me  go,  or 
I  shall  lose  her  again  I  " 

"Take  this  girl  to  Salpetriere I "  exclaimed  the  count, 
who  was  not  moved  from  his  purpose  by  Henrietta's 
passionate  pleadings. 

"  Oh,  no — no  I "  implored  the  poor  girl,  as  the  rough 
Soldiers  forced  her  away. 

The  countess  seemed  to  recover  a  portion  of  her  self- 
possession  as  Henriette  was  forced  away.  She  under- 
stood now  that  she  must  rescue  Louise  before  it  was  too 
late,  and  she  rushed  toward  the  door ;  but  her  husband 
barred  the  passage. 

"  At  least,  let  me  go,  I  must  go !  "  she  exclaimed,  ex- 
citedly. 

"  You  will  remain  where  you  are,  madame,"  said  the 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  131 

count,  taking  her  almost  roughly  by  the  arm,  "  You 
have  not  yet  told  me  what  brought  you  here." 

"  Monsieur,  I  will  later,"  frantically  exclaimed  the 
poor  woman,  almost  beside  herself  with  anxiety.  "I 
will  tell  you  all ;  but  now  let  me  go  before  she " 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  madame  ?  "  was  the 
stern  interruption. 

"  Of  whom  ?  "  almost  shrieked  the  countess.  "  Why, 
of — of — my " 

The  poor  woman  could  say  no  more.  In  her  excite- 
ment she  had  almost  said  "  my  child  ; "  but  she  saw  the 
count's  stern,  angry  gaze  fixed  upon  her,  and  she  sunk 
back  in  her  chair  in  a  dead  swoon. 

Count  de  Linieres  gave  a  hard,  cold  look  at  his  wife, 
without  attempting  to  aid  her,  and  then  turning,  left 
the  room. 

As  he  reached  the  street,  he  heard  a  sad,  sweet  voice 
singing  in  the  distance ;  but  to  him  it  meant  nothing, 
save  the  song  of  a  street-beggar,  and  he  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  it. 

To  two  it  would  have  spoken  in  tones  of  deepest  mis- 
ery had  they  heard  it ;  but  one  was  on  her  way  to  Sal- 
petriere,  and  the  other  in  that  attic-room,  unconscious 
of  all  that  was  passing  around  her. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

PRISON  LIFE. 

WE  have  for  a  time  lost  sight  of  Marianne  Yauthier, 
the  poor  outcast,  whom  we  saw  in  the  third  chapter,  and 
now  as  we  go  to  the  prison  of  La  Salpetriere,  in  which 
Henriette  is  confined,  we  see  her  again. 

Marianne,  the  prisoner,  is  different  from  Marianne,  the 
outcast.  Prison  life  has  enabled  her  to  exercise  all  that 


132  THE  TWO  OEPHAN8. 

was  good  in  her  nature,  without  giving  any  opportunity 
for  the  use  of  those  traits  which  were  perverted  by  the 
ruffian  Jacques. 

During  her  imprisonment  she  has  won  the  hearts  of 
her  keepers  and  fellow  prisoners,  and  all  regard  herwitt 
love.  Indeed,  so  exemplary  has  been  her  life  for  the 
past  three  months,  that  Sister  Genevieve,  the  matron, 
has  used  every  endeavor  to  procure  her  pardon. 

Before  we  again  speak  of  the  principal  character  of 
our  story,  a  glimpse  of  the  life  of  the  inmates  of  La 
Salpetriere  may  not  prove  uninteresting. 

In  those  days  no  work  was  furnished  the  unhappy 
prisoner,  and  day  after  day  the  weary  monotony  of  cell 
and  court-yard  was  only  broken  by  the  religious  teach- 
ings of  the  good  sisters  who  were  in  charge  of  the  place, 
or  a  conversation  with  each  other  in  which  the  probable 
term  of  their  imprisonment  was  the  principal  topic. 

It  was  during  a  similar  conversation  that  we  enter  the 
oourt-yard  of  the  prison,  and  find  Marianne,  with  some 
light  work  which  had  been  given,  by  request,  to  her, 
talking  and  trying  to  cheer  several  others,  who  are  drag- 
ging out  the  weary  term  for  which  they  are  confined. 

One  of  the  women  is  seated  a  little  apart  from  the 
rest,  weeping  over  her  hard  lot,  and  it  is  to  her  that  Ma- 
rianne addressed  herself. 

"  Do  not  grieve  so,  Florette,"  she  said,  soothingly. 

"  Oh,  I  can  never  live  such  a  life  as  this  1 "  replied  the 
poor  girl,  giving  way  to  new  grief. 

"  Try  to  work,  it  will  make  you  forget  your  troubles." 

"  I  can't  work.  I  don't  know  how.  I  have  never  had 
any  harder  work  to  do  than  to  amuse  myself." 

"  That  would  be  precious  hard  work  in  this  place," 
remarked  another,  who  had  passed  several  years  of  the 
dreary  inactions  of  prison  life. 

"  Our  paths  in  life  have  been  very  different,"  said  Ma- 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  133 

wanne,  with  a  sigh,  as  she  thought  of  her  own  hard  life. 
M I  was  compelled  to  work  for  a  thief." 

"  Scores  of  admirers  crowded  around  me,  willing  to 
ruin  themselves  for  my  amusement,"  said  Florette,  dry. 
ing  her  eyes,  and  speaking  in  a  vivacious  manner,  as  she 
thought  of  her  past  triumphs. 

"  And  it  all  comes  to  a  prison,  and  eating  gruel  with 
*  wooden  spoon,"  said  Julie,  the  one  who  had  passed  so 
many  years  in  prison. 

"  But  you  get  accustomed  to  that,"  said  Marianne,  in 
a  quiet,  resigned  voice. 

"  But  it  does  not  end  there,"  persisted  Julie ;  "  some 
day  we  shall  be  treated  as  those  poor  creatures  were  yes- 
terday; hurried  off  with  a  guard  of  soldiers  to  see  us 
safe  on  our  weary  exile." 

"  And  a  jeering  crowd  insulting  and  maltreating  us," 
added  Florette. 

"  Does  the  idea  of  exile  frighten  you  ?  "  asked  Mari- 
anne. 

"  Who  would  not  be  frightened  at  the  idea  of  a  two 
months'  voyage  in  the  vilest  company,  and  at  the  end 
of  it  be  landed  in  a  wild  country  ?  "  replied  Julie,  with 
ft  great  show  of  feeling. 

"  What  will  you  do  if  they  send  you  away  ?  "  asked 
Florette  of  Marianne. 

"  I  shall  try  to  be  resigned.  Perhaps  I  shall  find 
some  satisfaction  in  being  sent  away  out  of  the  reach  of 
temptation.  One  can  find  plenty  of  work  there.1 

"  They  say  that  women  are  scarce  out  there  in  Louis- 
iana,1' said  Julie,  complacently.  "  Maybe  I  shall  find  a 
husband,  and  revenge  myself  in  that  way." 

"You  may  not  be  sent  to  exile,"  said  Marianne,  hope- 
fully. "  Show  yourself  repentant,  and  the  sister  super- 
ior will  interest  herself  in  your  behalf." 

Just  at  this  time  Sister  Gene  vie  v«  appeared  at  th« 


184  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

door  of  the  prison,  and  all  looked  toward  her  in  a  manner 
that  plainly  showed  how  much  love  they  entertained  for 
her. 

"  She  has  been  attending  to  the  sick ;  now  she  comes 
to  console  the  afflicted,"  said  Marianne,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Well,  for  so  good  a  woman,  she  is  the  meekest  I  ever 
saw,"  said  Julie,  in  a  decided  tone. 

"  What  do  I  not  owe  her  ?  "  continued  Marianne ; 
11  her  gentle  words  first  awoke  feelings  in  my  heart  that 
I  thought  long  since  dead.  When  I  see  those  pure  and 
humble  women,  who  have  nothing  but  virtues  to  confess, 
daily  kneeling  in  prayer,  what  can  I  expect — I  who  am 
so  guilty  ?  " 

"  And  1,  too,"  said  Florette. 

"  But  they  have  taught  me  that  I  can  atone  for  the 
past,"  said  Marianne,  still  in  a  half  musing  tone,  "  that 
every  good  deed  will  efface  a  fault  committed." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  couldn't  live  long  enough  to  balance 
the  account,"  said  Julie,  in  a  voice  that  expressed  both 
jest  and  sadness. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
the  physician  of  the  prison,  who  was  none  other  than 
the  same  charitable  doctor  whom  we  saw  at  the  Place 
St.  Sulpice,  when  he  would  have  benefited  Louise  so 
greatly,  had  he  been  allowed  to  do  so. 

As  he  entered,  Sister  Genevieve  went  eagerly  toward 
him,  displaying  a  nervousness  that  was  very  strange. 

"  Ah,  doctor,  I  have  been  waiting  impatiently  for  you," 
she  said,  in  a  marvelously  sweet  voice. 

"  I  am  not  late,  I  believe,"  replied  the  physician,  as 
he  glanced  at  his  watch  to  assure  himself  that  he  was 
punctual  to  the  time  appointed. 

"  No,"  answered  the  sister,  "  but  you  led  me  to  hope 
that  when  you  came  to  day  you  would  bring  me " 

44  Good  news,"  added  the  doctor,  while  a  smile  of  satis- 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  135 

faction  and  pleasure  passed  over  his  face.  "  "Well,  I 
have  done  everything  in  my  power.  I  have  spoken  of 
the  interest  you  take  in  this  unfortunate  woman,  of  her 
sincere  repentance,  and  I  even  went  so  far  as  to  add  a 
few  good  qualities  on  my  own  account." 

"  You  did  wrong,  doctor,"  said  the  good  sister,  in  a 
tone  that  showed  plainly  that  she  was  hurt  at  any  sub- 
terfuge having  been  used,  even  though  it  was  done  to 
effect  a  purpose  which  she  had  very  much  at  heart. 
"  There  is  no  cause  sacred  enough  to  justify  the  viola- 
tion of  the  truth." 

"  You  will  thank  me,  nevertheless,  sister,"  replied  the 
doctor. 

"  Then  you  have  succeeded  ?  "  was  the  eager  question. 

"  Completely." 

"  Heaven  be  praised  1 "  said  Sister  Genevieve,  piously, 
as  she  clasped  her  hands  and  breathed  a  prayer  of  thank- 
fulness. Then  turning  to  Marianne,  she  said : 

"  Marianne,  come  here,  my  child.  Here  is  our  good 
doctor,  who  will  tell  you  what  he  has  done  for  you." 

"  For  me  ? "  asked  the  surprised  girl,  as  she  went 
slowly  toward  them. 

"  You  must  thank  Sister  Genevieve,  not  me,"  said  the 
physician.  "  Touched  by  your  repentance,  she  has 
solicited  your  pardon  and  release." 

For  an  instant,  Marianne  did  not  understand  all  that 
the  doctor's  words  meant ;  but  when  it  flashed  upon  her 
mind  that  she  was  free,  that  now,  thanks  to  the  disinter- 
ested kindness  of  the  sister,  she  was  no  longer  a  prisoner, 
no  longer  in  danger  of  being  sent  into  exile,  she  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  before  Sister  Genevieve,  and  clasp- 
ing her  hand,  rained  kisses  and  tears  on  it  in  the  fulluesa 
of  her  gratitude. 

"  My  benefactress  !  my  mother  1 "  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
voice  almost  choked  with  emotion. 


186  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

"  No— no,"  said  Sister  Genevieve,  quickly.  "  It  was 
he  who  obtained  it  for  you." 

She  pointed  to  the  doctor,  who  was  standing  near, 
wiping  away  the  tears  which  filled  his  eyes  at  such  an 
axhibition  of  gratitude  as  Marianne  furnished. 

"  No,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  your  release  is  granted  to  the 
good  Sister  Genevieve.  To  that  good  and  noble  woman, 
who,  born  within  the  walls  of  La  Salpetriere,  has  never 
consented  to  cross  its  threshold;  who  has  made  this 
prison  her  country,  and  its  unfortunate  inmates  her  fam- 
ily ;  who  brings  to  you  all  her  daily  blessings  of  conso- 
lation and  prayer,  so  that  the  vilest  here  respect  and 
love  her " 

The  doctor  stopped  abruptly,  because  on  looking 
around  upon  the  faces  of  the  inmates  who  had  gathered 
near  them,  he  saw  their  cheeks  bedewed  with  tears — 
tears  of  gratitude  and  love  for  the  pure  woman  who  was 
devoting  her  life  to  their  welfare,  and  as  his  own  eyes 
were  not  free  from  moisture,  he  thought  it  time  to  bring 
his  remarks  to  a  close. 

Marianne  still  held  the  good  sister's  hand,  and  gazed 
up  into  her  face  as  though  she  would  impress  those  calm 
and  placid  features  upon  her  heart  indelibly. 

They  stood  around  the  sister,  silent  and  tearful,  when 
the  prison  bell  was  rung  loud  and  sharp. 

It  was  the  signal  for  the  prisoners  to  retire  to  their 
cells,  and  they  began  to  move  toward  their  narrow, 
cheerless  rooms. 

"  It  is  time  to  go  in,"  said  Sister  Genevieve,  cheerfully, 
and  then  taking  Marianne's  face  between  her  hands,  she 
imprinted  a  loving  kiss  upon  her  forehead,  and  said, 
gravely : 

"  This  evening  you  will  be  free.  Do  not  forget  that  I 
am  responsible  for  you.  Society  has  sent  me  a  guilty 
woman ;  I  return  it  a  repentant  one,  I  hope,  Marianne." 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  187 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

PICABD  IN  A  NEW  RO*LE. 

ALTHOUGH  Henrietta  had  been  in  La  Salpetriera 
twenty -four  hours  when  the  events  narrated  in  our  last 
chapter  occurred,  Marianne  had  not  seen  her,  for  the  rea« 
sou  that  the  poor  orphan  had  been  ill. 

Her  sufferings  had  brought  on  a  severe  attack  of  sick- 
ness, and,  happily  for  the  poor  girl,  she  had  been  uncon- 
scious, not  even  knowing  that  she  wns  in  a  prison. 

Instead  of  being  confined  in  a  cell,  she  was  taken  to 
the  prison  hospital,  and  had  just  escaped  from  her  keep- 
ers, and  came  running  into  the  court-yard  as  Sister  Gen- 
evieve  spoke  the  words  to  Marianne  which  close  our  last 
chapter. 

With  her  hair  unbound,  a  wild  light  in  her  eyes,  and 
a  hectic  flush  upon  her  cheeks,  she  rushed  to  the  sister 
and  knelt  before  her. 

Although  the  appearance  of  the  young  girl  was  en- 
tirely different  from  what  it  was  when  Marianne  last 
•aw  her,  she  knew  her  almost  immediately. 

"  Good  Heavens !  is  it  possible  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
tone  of  surprise,  of  almost  fright. 

"  Oh,  madame ! "  cried  Henriette,  in  imploring  ac- 
cents, "  if  you  are  the  mistress  here,  have  pity  on  me, 
and  order  them  to  set  me  free.  I  ask  you  on  my 
knees ! " 

The  voice  of  the  young  girl  convinced  Marianne  that 
ghe  was  indeed  none  other  than  one  of  the  two  who  so 
generously  befriended  her  on  the  night  when  she  gave 
herself  up  to  the  police. 

"  Be  calm,  my  child,"  said  Sister  Gene  vie  ve,  tenderly, 
as  she  stroked  Henriette's  long  hair  with  a  gentle,  lev* 
ing  touch.  "  You  are  ilL" 


138  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

"  Certainly  you  are,"  added  the  doctor,  going  toward 
her.  "  Why  have  you  left  your  bed  without  my  per- 
mission ?  " 

"  Oh,  monsieur  1 "  said  the  poor  girl,  turning  toward 
the  gentle-voiced,  pleasant- faced  man  who  spoke  so 
kindly,  "  have  you  attended  me  in  my  illness  ?  " 

"Yes— yes.  and  I  can  not  permit  you  to  act  in  this 
way." 

"  But,  monsieur,  I  am  well  now,"  said  Henriette,  go- 
ing toward  the  doctor.  "  Thanks  to  your  care,  I  am 
well  again.  They  left  me  alone  for  a  few  moments,  and 
I  arose  and  dressed  myself.  Now  that  you  see  I  am 
quite  well,  you  will  tell  them  to  let  me  go,  will  you 
not?" 

The  doctor  gazed  at  her  compassionately  for  a  mo- 
ment before  answering : 

"  That  is  impossible.  To  release  you  from  this  place 
requires  a  far  greater  power  than  mine." 

"  This  place  ? "  asked  the  young  girl,  in  surprise. 
"  Why,  what  is  it  ?  Is  it  not  a  hospital  ?  " 

"A  hospital  and  a  prison,"  replied  the  physician 
gravely. 

"  A  prison  1 "  exclaimed  Henriette,  in  terror,  and 
striving  to  remember  how  she  came  to  be  in  such  a 
place. 

At  last  the  events  of  the  past  few  hours  came  back  to 
her  mind,  until  gradually  she  understood  all. 

"  Ah,  I  remember,"  she  said,  at  length.  "  Yes,  I  re- 
member the  soldiers  who  dragged  me  hither,  and  him 
•who  commanded.  Oh,  my  God,  what  have  I  done  to  be 
crushed  like  this !  " 

And  falling  prone  upon  the  earth,  the  poor,  stricken 
one  wept  scalding  tears  of  anguish. 

She  knew  not  that  Louise  was  in  the  power  of  un- 
•Knjpulous  wretches,  and  her  cup  of  sorrow  seemed  t« 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  139 

be  running  over  with  the  knowledge  that  she  was  ui* 
able  to  render  her  poor  blind  sister  any  assistance,  even 
if  she  had  known  exactly  where  she  was  at  that 
moment. 

For  an  instant  the  three  gazed  in  pity  at  the  grief- 
stricken  girl  before  them,  and  then  turning  away  to  hide 
his  tears,  the  doctor  said : 

"  Sister,  this  is  not  a  case  for  my  care.  You  must  be 
the  physician  here." 

"  I  have  seen  many  guilty  women,"  said  Sister  Gen- 
evieve,  "  but  this  one " 

"  Is  not  guilty,  sister,"  interrupted  Marianne,  quickly. 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?  ft 

"  When  I  came  here,"  said  Marianne,  "  I  told  you 
that  on  that  very, day,  overwhelmed  with  despair,  I  had 
attempted  to  destroy  myself." 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

"  And  how  I  had  been  prevented  from  adding  that 
crime  to  my  many  sins  by  two  young  girls,  angels  of 
virtue  and  goodness.  This  is  one  of  them." 

"  How  is  it  possible  that  she  should  be  here  ?  "  asked 
Sister  Genevieve,  half  to  herself. 

"  Misfortune  may  have  overtaken  her,  but  I  am  sure 
that  vice  has  never  sullied  her  life,"  replied  Marianne, 
with  great  assurance. 

The  good  sister  raised  Henriette  from  the  ground,  and 
attempted  to  soothe  her  grief. 

"  Courage,  my  child,  look  up,"  she  said,  kindly. 

Henriette  made  no  sign  of  recognition,  and  Marianne 
went  more  closely  to  her. 

"  Look  at  me,  mademoiselle.  Do  you  not  remember 
the  woman  who  wished  to  drown  herself! " 

"  You — you,"  faltered  the  poor  girl,  striving  to  recall 
the  events  "arhich  had  passed,  and  which,  in  her  misery, 
seemed  to  have  occurred  years  before,  instead  of  only  a 


140  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

few  weeks.  <c  Ah,  yes,  I  remember  you  too  well  i  "  she 
exclaimed,  as  the  events  of  that  fatal  night  when  she 
was  separated  from  her  sister  came  upon  her  like  some 
pestilence-laden  blast  of  air.  "  Alas !  we  were  together 
then — that  was  before  they  dragged  me  away  from  her. 
Yon  saw  her — my  poor  sister  ?  " 

"  I  told  madarne  that  you  were  as  pure  as  an  angel." 

"  Yes,  madame,  I  am  innocent  I  "  exclaimed  Henri  ette, 
earnestly,  and  in  a  manner  that  could  not  but  carry  con- 
viction  with  it.  "  I  call  Heaven  to  witness — I  swear — " 

"  Do  not  swear,  daughter,"  said  Sister  Genevieve,  in  a 
mildly  reproving  voice.  "  I  believe  you  would  not  be 
guilty  of  the  shameful  sin  of  falsehood." 

"  No— no !  "  answered  Henriette,  quickly. 

While  the  conversation  was  going  on  a  man  had  ap- 
preached  the  prison  gates,  and  after  showing  the  sister 
in  charge  a  paper  signed  by  the  minister  of  police,  giv- 
ing him  permission  to  visit  the  prison,  was  admitted, 
and  proceeded  directly  to  Sister  Genevieve. 

The  person  who  just  entered  was  our  old  friend,  Picard 
the  magnificent. 

"  By  whose  orders  were  you  sent  here  ?  "  asked  the 
sister,  as  she  looked  earnestly  at  the  rather  singular-ap- 
pearing young  man. 

"  By  order  of  the  Count  de  Linieres,  madame." 

"  Who  are  you,  sir  ?  "  she  asked,  rather  surprised  ftl 
*he  messenger  the  count  had  sent. 

"First  valet-de-chamber  to  his  excellency,  the  minis- 
ter of  police,"  replied  Picard,  laying  his  hand  on  hii 
heart  in  an  affected  manner,  and  making  a  very  low  bow. 

"Then  it  is  by  his  orders,"  said  the  usually  very  mild 
•ieter,  ir  a  stern  voice,  "  that  the  poor  child  is——" 

"Alas,  madame,"  interrupted  Picard,  "the  honor  of 
an  illustrious  house  must  be  protected !" 

"You  are  a  witness  that  I  refused  the  hand  of  tlie 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  141 

chevalier,"  said  Henrietta,  passionately,  and  appealing 
to  the  valet  with  all  the  force  of  her  gentle  nature. 

"Is  that  so,  monsieur?  "  asked  Sister  Genevieve. 

"  That  is  true,  I  am  compelled  to  admit  it,"  replied 
Picard,  with  another  and  a  lower  bow. 

"  Madame,  I  told  you  she  was  innocent,"  said  Ma« 
rianne,  overjoyed  at  this  proof  of  Henriette's  guiltless- 
ness. 

"  If  Madame  the  Superior  will  allow  me  to  inform  the 
young  lady  of  the  further  wishes  of  his  excellency,  the 
minister  of  police,  I  think  I  can  make  her  understand," 
said  Picard,  seeing  that  this  interview  was  not  tending 
to  give  those  around  him  that  exalted  idea  of  his  dig- 
nity  which  he  was  ever  careful  to  preserve,  and  wishing 
to  terminate  the  interview  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  You  may  do  so,"  said  the  sister,  gravely.  Then, 
turning  to  Henriette  and  kissing  her,  she  said:  "Have 
courage,  my  child,  and  trust  in  Heaven." 

As  the  sister  superior  left  the  court-yard  and  entered 
the  hospital,  Marianne  pressed  close  to  Henriette,  ancl 
whispered : 

"  Courage — courage,  mademoiselle,"  and  then  followed 
Sister  Genevieve. 

"  We  are  alone,"  said  Henriette,  as  soon  as  Mariannt 
had  gone.  "  What  new  misery  do  you  bring  me,  you 
whom  I  thought  devoted  to  your  master,  and  yet  come 
here  to  betray  him  ?  " 

"Come,  come,  mademoiselle,''  said  Picard,  growing 
confused,  strange  to  say,  at  the  words  of  the  young 
girl,  "  that  is  too  bad  to  have  you  to  reproach  me  too. 
Because  the  master  I  deceive  is  the  minister  of  police." 

"  But  Monsieur  de  Yaudrey — what  of  him  ?  " 

"  He  refused  to  obey  his  uncle — and — and  yesterday 
he  was  sent  to  the  Bastile." 

"  He,  too,  is  a  prisoner,  then  1 "  exclaimed  Henrietta, 


142  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

in  despair.  The  chevalier  was  the  only  one  to  whom 
she  could  look  for  assistance  in  escaping  from  the  dread- 
ful place  in  which  she  was  confined,  and  now  that  she 
knew  that  he  was  unable  to  assist  her,  all  hope  fled,  and 
she  could  see  no  way  of  escape  from  the  meshes  that 
were  being  drawn  so  closely  around  her. 

"  Yes,  he  is  in  the  Bastile,"  said  Picard,  in  a  mourn- 
ful  tone.  "  He  made  me  swear  to  come  to  this  prison, 
and  tell  you  that  if,  at  the  worst,  they  decided  to  send 
you  into  exile  to  Louisiana " 

"  Exile !  Louisiana  I  Why,  that  would  be  death  1 " 
exclaimed  the  poor  girl,  in  distress. 

"Wait  a  little,  mademoiselle,"  said  Picard,  confi- 
dently, "if  my  pretended  master  comes  to  that  decision, 
he  will  release  my  real  master  from  the  Bastile :  and 
once  he  gets  out  of  there,  why  off  he  goes,  followed  by 
your  humble  servant.  We  overtake  the  guard  having 
you  in  charge;  with  the  gold  with  which  he  will  take 
care  to  be  provided,  my  real  master  will  bribe  the  serv- 
ants of  my  other  master,  and  if  they  should  be  incor- 
ruptible— that  is,  if  we  have  not  money  enough  with  us 
to  buy  them,  why  then  we  will  share  your  exile,  and 
we  will  be  happy  in  spite  of  the  treachery  of  my  other 
master." 

In  order  that  the  reader  may  fully  understand  Pic- 
ard's  speech,  we  will  briefly  state  how  it  was  that  while 
appearing  at  the  prison  as  the  Count  de  Linieres'  valet, 
he  was  still  obeying  the  chevalier's  commands. 

When  Picard  and  his  master  left  Henriette's  cham- 
ber, the  day  on  which  she  was  arrested,  the  valet's  sym- 
pathies were  aroused  in  her  cause,  and  as  soon  as  the 
chevalier  was  sent  to  the  Bastile,  Picard  proposed  to  him 
that  it  would  be  better  if  he  (Picard)  should  again  enter 
the  service  of  the  minister  of  police ;  for  by  that  mean* 
he  would  be  enabled  to  be  of  some  service  both  to  tht 


THB  TWO  ORPHAN!.  143 

chevalier,  whom  he  considered  to  be  his  real  master,  and 
to  Henriette. 

When  Picard  spoke  of  their  yet  being  happy  again, 
Henriette  said,  sadly  : 

"  You  speak  to  me  of  happiness.  But  Louise,  my  dar- 
ling sister,  who  will  search  for  her  ?  " 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  asked  Picard,  with  a  show  of  wounded 
vanity.  "Do  I  count  for  nothing?  Do  you  suppose 
that  a  member  of  the  secret  police  of  his  excellency,  the 
minister,  is  going  to  fold  his  arms  quietly  ?  No,  indeed. 
Come — come,  mademoiselle,  don't  worry  yourself.  I 
will  arrange  everything.  Then,  if  they  want  my  head, 
they  can  come  and  take  it.  I  am  ready." 

And  Picard  struck  an  attitude  of  courage  and  self- 
sacrifice. 

Just  at  this  moment,  as  if  summoned  by  the  valet's 
boasting  words,  an  officer,  attended  by  a  file  of  soldiers, 
presented  himself  at  the  gate,  and  after  showing  his  order 
for  admission,  entered. 

Picard  was  so  engrossed  by  his  bold  defiance  to  the 
minister  of  police  that  he  did  not  notice  anything 
around  him,  and  therefore  he  did  not  see  the  guards  un- 
til he  heard  an  exc/amation  of  alarm  from  Henriette. 

"  Good  Heavens !     Look  there ! " 

Surprised  by  her  cry,  Picard  looked  in  the  direction 
designated  by  her  extended  finger,  and  as  he  saw  the  sol- 
diers, he  lost  all  outward  signs  of  bravery. 

"  Good  gracious !  have  they  taken  me  at  my  word  ?  " 
he  asked,  in  affright,  and  at  the  same  time  putting  his 
hand  on  his  head,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  it  rested 
securely  on  his  shoulders. 

Hearing  the  noise  of  the  opening  gate,  Sister  Gene- 
vieve,  accompanied  by  Marianne  and  the  doctor,  came 
out  of  the  hospital,  and  seeing  her,  the  officer  of  the 
guard  advanced,  and,  after  making  a  low  salute,  Mid; 


144  THE  TWO  OBPHANB. 

**  Sister  Superior,  I  have  the  honor  to  hand  you  the 
list  of  prisoners  who  are  condemned  to  exile.  If  you 
will  permit  me  to  order  the  prisoners  to  be  assembled 
here,  we  can  proceed  to  identify  them." 

"  You  may  do  so,  monsieur,"  said  Sister  Genevieve 
u  I  will  follow  you." 

Several  times  she  attempted  to  open  and  read  the 
fatal  list  which  she  held  in  her  hands,  and  each  time  she 
was  prevented  by  the  intensity  of  her  feelings. 

At  last,  with  an  effort,  she  opened  the  packet,  and 
gave  one  quick  glance  at  the  names  it  contained.  Then, 
with  a  suppressed  cry,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  Henriette, 
in  an  unutterably  sad  look. 

"  Madame,"  cried  the  poor  girl,  warned  by  the  look 
that  the  paper  boded  no  good  to  her,  "  why  do  you  look 
at  me  so  ?  Answer  me  for  pity's  sake,  but  have  mercy  I " 

"  Ah,  my  poor  child  I  "  sighed  the  sister,  but  she  could 
say  no  more,  for  Henriette's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her 
face  in  the  most  beseeching  manner. 

The  few  words  which  Sister  Genevieve  had  uttered 
were  enough  to  show  the  poor  orphan  that  the  worst 
which  could  be  done  by  the  minister  was  now  to  be  ex- 
ecuted  against  her. 

She  had  clung  to  the  hope  that  the  chevalier  might 
assist  her  in  her  hour  of  trial,  and  Picard's  words  had 
strengthened  that  belief;  but  she  saw  now  that  all 
hope  was  in  vain.  The  pitying  looks  cast  upon  her 
by  Sister  Genevieve,  Marianne,  and  the  doctor,  spoke 
her  doom  too  plainly.  There  was  no  hope  for  her. 
She  must  go  into  exile,  and  all  hope  of  ever  seeing 
her  blind  sister  was  at  an  end. 

As  these  thoughts  flashed  over  her,  her  strength 
gave  way,  and  again  she  sunk  helplessly  upon  th« 
ground,  murmuring : 

"  Alas  (  I  am  condemned  1    I  am  lost— lost  I  ** 


THE  TWO  ORP7IAN8.  145 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"GREATER   LOVE   HATH   NO   MAN  THAN  THIS.9* 

HENRIETTE'S  cry  of  despair,  as  she  understood  thai 
she  was  condemned  to  exile,  rang  through  the  corri- 
dors of  the  prison,  causing  all  who  heard  it  to  shud- 
der involuntarily. 

In  the  intensity  of  her  grief,  which  had  caused  the 
cry,  it  sounded  more  like  the  wail  of  a  strong  man  in 
his  agony,  rather  than  that  of  a  young  girl. 

Picard  evinced  the  greatest  consternation.  "  I'll  go 
to  the  Bastile  and  inform  the  chevalier,"  he  thought. 

Henriette,  turning  to  Marianne,  who  was  standing 
near  in  the  hopes  that  she  might  be  able  to  render 
some  assistance,  said,  in  a  world-weary  voice : 

"  Ah  1  now  I  understand  why  one  may  wish  to  die." 

"  Do  not  speak  so,  mademoiselle,"  entreated  Mari- 
anne. "  Remember  the  words  of  hope  you  spoke  to 
me." 

"  If  you  have  a  family,  think  of  them,"  said  the 
g«od  doctor,  anxious  to  turn  the  thoughts  of  the  poor 
girl  to  something  beside  her  own  misery. 

"  Think  of  master,  the  chevalier,"  said  Picard,  in  a 
tone  which  plainly  said :  "  Remember  the  plan  which 
we  have  formed  for  your  escape." 

"  Ah  I  monsieur !  "  said  Henriette  to  the  physician, 
"  exile  has  no  terrors  for  me.  I  do  not  weep  for  my 
own  misfortunes." 

"She  has  a  sister  of  whom  she  was  the  sole  sup- 
port," exclaimed  Marianne.  "  A  sister  who  is  blind." 

"  I  had  found  her  at  the  moment  when  they  ar- 
rested me,"  added  Henriette,  sorrowfully.  "I  heard 
her  voice.  I  saw  her.  She  was  covered  with  rags, 
and  her  beautiful  golden  hair  fell  in  disorder  OB  her 


146  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

shoulders.     She  was  being  dragged  along  by  a  horri 
ble  old  woman,  who  I  know  ill-treats  her — beats  her, 
perhaps,  and  they  would  not  let  me  go  to  her.    Now 
I  have  lost  her  forever — forever  ! " 

And  again  the  sorely  tried  girl  burst  into  a  flood  of 
bitter  tears,  while  Marianne  supported  the  slight  form  in 
her  arms. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  my  child,"  exclaimed  the  physician, 
as  a  sudden  thought  flashed  over  him.  "  I  believe  I 
have  met  that  very  same  girl." 

"You,  monsieur?"  exclaimed  Henriette,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes — yes,  a  young  girl  led  by  an  old  woman,  who 
called  herself  Louise." 

"  Yes — -yes,  that's  her  name,"  and  the  young  girl  now 
became  breathless  with  excitement. 

"  I  know  the  old  woman,  too.  She  is  called  La  Fro- 
chard,"  continued  the  doctor,  while  Henriette  listened 
anxiously  to  every  word  he  spoke. 

"  La  Frochard  !  "  exclaimed  Picard,  quickly.  "  An 
old  hag  that  goes  about  whining  for  alms  in  the  name  of 
Heaven  and  seven  small  children?  Where  does  sht 
live?" 

Marianne  shuddered. 

She  knew  full  well  what  mercy  any  one  might  ex- 
pect at  the  hands  of  the  Frochards,  and  she  resolved 
that  the  blind  girl  should  be  rescued  from  their  vile 
grasp. 

"  She  lives  in  a  novel  by  the  river-side,"  she  said, 
quickly,  and  as  if  it  pained  her  even  to  be  obliged  to 
spea*k  of  the  family.  "  It  was  formerly  used  as  a  boat- 
house  ;  but  has  long  been  occupied  by  thieves  and  the 
worst  class  of  criminals.  There  is  a  secret  entrance  from 
the  Rue  Noir;  but  it  is  difficult  to  find  and  always  care- 
fully guarded." 

"Hover  mind  that," said  Picard,  contemptuous!/,  "tfet 


THE  TWO  OBPHAN8.  147 

polio*  of  Paris  can  find  their  secret  entrances  ;  if  not,  we 
will  capture  the  main  one.  I  must  go  the  Bastile  first, 
And  try  to  effect  my  master's  release.  Then  we  will  go 
to  this  boat-house." 

And  away  Picard  darted  in  the  greatest  haste,  full  of 
the  importance  of  the  task  he  had  undertaken,  and  re- 
solved  to  accomplish  it  at  any  cost. 

"  You  are  sure  she  lives  there  ?  "  asked  Henriette,  ea- 
gerly, and  forgetting  for  the  moment  that  she  was  a  pris- 
oner, hurrying  toward  the  gate.  "  Then  we  will  go  at 
once.  Thank  God,  I  have  found  my  dear  sister  again  I " 

As  she  reached  the  gate  she  suddenly  remembered 
her  cruel  position,  and  how  impossible  it  was  for  her  to 
take  a  single  step  toward  liberating  her  sister. 

The  shock  was  a  great  one,  and  she  sunk  down  cow- 
ering and  trembling,  while  she  murmured,  in  a  choked, 
stifled  voice : 

"  Oh,  I'm  to  be  sent  away — away  from  her." 

"No— no,  mademoiselle,"  exclaimed  Marianne,  pas- 
sionately, as  she  caught  Henriette's  hand,  and  pressed  it 
to  her  lips ;  "  you  need  not — you  shall  not  be  sent 
away  I " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  as  soon  as 
he  could  wipe  away  his  tears,  for  Marianne's  positive 
assurance  startled  him. 

"I  need  not  be  sent  away?"  repeated  Henriette. 
"  Look  at  these  guards  who  have  been  sent  to  take  mev 
who  wait  for  me,"  and  she  pointed  to  the  soldiers,  who 
•tood  like  grim  statues  ranged  along  the  side  of  the  yard. 
And  as  she  looked  upon  their  stern  faces  that  seemed  never 
to  have  known  what  pity  was,  her  grief  broke  out  anew. 

"  Ob,  Louise!  my  sister,  my  poor  darling!  "  she  v/ail- 
ed,  while  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  as  if  to 
shut  out  the  sight  of  those  who  were  to  force  her  to 
leave  France  and  her  sister,  branded  as  a  fallen 


148  THE  TWO  OBPHANS. 

"  I  teH  you  that  you  need  not  go,"  insisted  Marianne^ 
eagerly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  was  tlie  unhappy  girl's  ques- 
tion. 

At  this  moment,  the  unfortunate  prisoners  whost 
names  were  on  the  list  of  those  condemned  to  exile, 
entered  the  court-yard,  accompanied  by  the  officers  of 
the  guard. 

The  kind-hearted  Sister  Genevieve,  whose  duty  it  was 
to  inform  the  unhappy  creatures  of  their  hard  fate,  had 
remained  within  the  prison  walls,  as  if  to  spare  herself 
the  pain  of  seeing  the  poor  creatures  as  they  were  drag- 
ged away. 

In  order  not  to  be  overheard  by  the  officer,  Marianne 
went  close  to  the  doctor,  and  whispered : 

"  Doctor,  have  pity  on  her,  and  consent  to  help  me." 

Before  she  could  say  more,  or  even  hear  the  physi- 
cian's reply,  the  officer  who  had  been  consulting  his  list, 
said : 

"I  needed  another  prisoner  to  complete  the  list. 
Henriette  Girard ! " 

Henriette  started  as  though  she  had  received  a  blow, 
but  before  she  could  speak,  Marianne  ran  toward  the 
guard,  saying : 

"  Here,  monsieur." 

The  act  took  Henriette  so  completely  by  surprise,  tha» 
she  could  only  give  utterance  to  a  low  cry,  which  sound 
ed  like  a  groan. 

fln  an  instant  the  doctor  had  comprehended  all  that 
Marianne  would  do,  and  although  the  sacrifice  was  greater 
than  seemed  possible  for  human  beings  to  make,  he  did 
jot  attempt  to  prevent  it,  but  grasped  Henriette  by  the 
urm  to  prevent  her  from  speaking. 

"  Your  sister's  fata  depends  upon  your  silence  1 "  h* 


THB  TWO  ORPHAN!.  14* 

wrhispered,  and  under  the  influence  of  that  magic  narn^ 
ahe  was  silent. 

The  officer  motioned  Marianne  to  take  her  place  with 
the  other  prisoners,  but  she  said,  imploringly  :  "  Permit 
me,  monsieur,  to  bid  her  a  last  farewell." 

He  motioned  an  impatient  consent,  and  Marianne, 
crossing  over  to  Henriette,  folded  her  in  a  last  embrace. 

Now  did  the  poor  orphan  fully  understand  all  the  out- 
cast had  consented  to  do  for  her,  and  much  as  she  loved 
her  sister,  she  could  not  accept  the  sacrifice. 

"  No — no,"  she  murmured.  "  I  can  not,  I  will  not 
consent  1 " 

"  Hush  1 "  exclaimed  Marianne,  placing  her  hand  over 
her  companion's  mouth.  "  It  is  not  you  whom  I  save, 
Henriette,  it  is  myself.  If  I  remain,  Jacques  will  find 
me  again,  and  once  in  his  power  I  should  be  lost.  You 
will  remain,  you  will  find  Louise,  and  you  will  both  be 
saved." 

Again  did  the  spell  which  Louise's  name  cast  ovei 
Henriette  prevent  her  from  protesting  against  the  fearful 
sacrifice  which  was  being  made  for  her,  and  she  mur- 
mured her  sister's  name  in  a  dazed,  happy  way. 

"  Here,  take  this,"  said  Marianne,  as  she  handed  her 
the  paper  which  only  a  short  time  before  she  had  re- 
ceived with  so  many  expressions  of  delight. 

It  was  the  pardon  which  allowed  her  to  go  out  of  LR 
Salpetriere  a  free  woman,  and  now  she  was  about  to  give 
it  up  that  Henriette  might  be  saved,  and  of  her  own  free 
will,  she  was  about  to  go  a  voluntary,  life-long  exile. 

"A  greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  he  lay 
down  his  life  for  his  friend," is  written  in  the  Book;  bu* 
surely  Marianne's  love  and  gratitude  far  exceeded  this, 
for  she  was  dooming  herself  to  a  whole  life-time  of 
misery. 

Heuriette  could  not  take  the  pardon  so  freely  offered 


150  THB  TWO   ORPHANS. 

and  Marianne  looked  at  the  doctor,  as  if  to  implore  him 
to  induce  the  poor  girl  to  do  so. 

"Take  it,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Your  sister's  fate 
depends  upon  it." 

After  some  hesitation,  Henriette  took  the  paper  which 
Marianne  had  thrust  into  her  hand,  and  then  flinging  her 
arms  around  the  woman  who  had  thus  saved  her,  sobbed 
out  her  thanks. 

At  this  most  inopportune  moment,  Sister  Genevieve 
came  slowly  out  of  the  prison,  toward  the  two  weeping 
girls. 

"The  sister  superior  I"  ejaculated  the  physician,  in 
dismay.  "All  is  lost  I" 

"  Heaven  would  not  permit  it  I "  exclaimed  Henriette. 

All  felt  that  Marianne's  generous  action  could  not  be 
consummated,  for  there  was  no  hope  that  the  good  sister, 
who  looked  upon  deception  as  a  heinous  crime,  could 
be  persuaded  to  tell  a  falsehood. 

"  Madame,"  said  the  officer  to  the  sister,  "  will  you 
please  verify  this  list,  and  identify  the  prisoners  who  are 
intended  for  exile  ?  " 

In  a  slow,  monotonous  voice,  the  officer  read  the  name 
of  each  one,  and  waited  until  the  sister  had  declared 
that  they  were  among  the  condemned. 

The  name  of  Henriette  Girard  was  the  last  on  the  list, 
and  when  the  officer  pronounced  it,  Marianne  ran  and 
knelt  at  the  sister's  feet,  exclaiming : 

"  Here,  mother  I " 

"  You  I"  exclaimed  the  sister,  in  surprise ;  but  before 
she  could  say  any  more,  the  doctor  stood  before  her,  and 
pointing  to  Henriette,  who  was  uttering  a  silent  prayer, 
not  daring  to  look  toward  either  of  the  group,  made  a 
most  appealing  gesture. 

"  Mother — mother,  have  pity!  "  cried  Marianne,  earn* 


TWO   OBPHAMf.  151 

•Btly,  u  Wets  me,  and  let  me  go,  for  thig  exile  will  purify 
a  guilty  soul,  and  save  an  innocent  one  1  " 

Several  times  did  Sister  Genevieve  attempt  to  speak, 
and  each  time  did  her  tongue  refuse  to  do  its  duty. 

Gladly  would  she  have  made  any  sacrifice,  but  she 
could  not  tell  a  lie. 

"  Well,  sister?  "  said  the  officer,  who  had  grown  weary 
with  the  singular  delay. 

The  struggle  was  most  intense,  but  at  last  she  placed 
her  hands  on  either  side  of  Marianne's  face,  and  stoop- 
ing over,  kissed  her  fervently. 

Then  raising  her  eyes  to  Heaven,  as  if  imploring 
divine  forgiveness  for  the  sin  she  was  about  to  commit, 
flhe  said,  in  a  voice  which  trembled,  despite  her  most 
strenuous  efforts  to  make  it  appear  firm : 

"Yes." 

Thus  did  Heaven  interpose  to  save  Henriette  from  the 
dreadful  fate  that  threatened  her,  but  it  demanded  as  a 
sacrifice  that  another  should  suffer  in  her  place,  and  that 
a  pure  woman,  almost  a  holy  woman,  should  take  upon 
herself  the  sin  of  a  falsehood,  as  she  regarded  it;  but 
who  shall  say  that,  in  the  last  great  day,  any  record  of 
that  falsehood  shall  be  found  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CRUELTY  AND   SUFFERING. 

AoAIN  do  we  find  the  poor  blind  girl  in  the  squalid 
hut  of  the  Frochards.  Their  cruelty  has  so  worn  upon 
the  young  girl  that  she  has  wasted  away  to  but  a  shadow 
of  her  former  self,  and  now  hardly  seems  able  to  walk. 

We  find  her  lying  upon  her  miserable  straw  bed,  in  a 
light,  troubled  sleep,  while  over  her  bends  Pierre,  the 
honest- hear  ted  cripple. 


152  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

As  he  gazes  upon  her  attenuated  features,  the  team 
of  pity  and  love  flood  his  eyes,  and  he  murmurs: 

"  Poor  child !  so  young — so  weak — so  lovely,  and  yet 
condemned  to  so  hard  a  fate.  Ah,  me  !  I  can  do  noth- 
ing. Jacques  suspects  and  watches  me.  If  I  were  to 
gain  courage  enough  to  make  one  step  to  ward  her  release, 
he  would  discover  it  and  kill  me.  Then  what  would 
become  of  her?  I  shudder  to  think  of  it." 

He  had  unconsciously  spoken  the  last  words  quite 
loud,  and  they  awoke  the  poor  girl. 

Raising  herself  upon  her  arm,  she  asked,  in  a  timid 
voice : 

"Who's  there?" 

"  It  is  I,  mamzelle — Pierre." 

"  Ah,  Pierre ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
and  thankfulness.  "  I  am  glad  it  is  you.  I  may  sleep  a 
little  longer,  may  I  not  ?  " 

"Sleep,  mamzelle,  sleep,  don't  be  frightened;  I  will 
not  leave  you." 

In  the  greatness  of  Pierre's  sympathy  he  reached  out 
and  stroked  the  miserable  rags  which  served  the  poor 
girl  as  a  dress. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  tired  !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  lay  down 
again  upon  the  hard  bed,  and  tried  to  cover  herself  with 
the  few  pieces  of  cloth  that  served  her  as  a  covering. 

As  tenderly  as  a  mother  could  cover  her  darling,  did 
Pierre  draw  the  scanty  clothes  over  Louise's  wasted 
form,  and  with  tender  solicitude  did  he  watch  over  her 
until  she  lost  herself  in  sleep  again. 

"  Yes,  sleep,  poor  child  ! "  he  said,  as  he  watched  her, 
"  and  forget  your  misery.  She  seems  calmer  now  ;  per- 
haps she's  dreaming  of  happier  days,  of  those  she  loves, 
and  who  love  and  weep  for  her  now.  Jacques  has  for- 
bidden me  to  think  of  her;  but  I  can  defy  him  there.  1 
will  think  of  her ;  yes,  and  save  her  too,  even  if  it  costs 


•c 


-£ 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  168 

me  my  life.  Yea — yes,  that  would  be  better— die  for 
her  if  I  can  save  her.  I  can  weaken  these  bolts,  and 
Jacques  will  not  discover  it." 

As  Pierre  thought  of  this  chance  for  escape,  he  caught 
up  a  screwdriver,  and  running  to  the  door,  began  tak 
ing  out  the  screws. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  the  thought  flashed  over 
him  that  the  act  he  was  committing  was  equivalent  to 
signing  his  own  death  warrant,  and  he  hesitated. 

"  What  am  I  doing?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Alas!  I  shall 
have  to  pay  for  this  with  my  life ;  no,  no — I  can  not." 

Just  as  he  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  Louise  moved 
uneasily  in  her  sleep,  and  in  a  low,  sweet  voice,  she  mur- 
mured : 

"  Henri  ette — sister — sister ! " 

Pierre  went  hastily  toward  her,  thinking  she  had 
heard  something ;  but  he  soon  understood  why  she  had 
spoken. 

"  She  was  dreaming  of  her  sister,"  he  said.  "  A  smile 
lights  up  her  pallid  face.  She  never  smiles  when  she  is 
awake.  Oh,  if  I  help  her  to  escape,  and  her  happy 
dreams  become  a  reality,  she  would  remember  me  with 
pity,  perhaps  with  love." 

These  thoughts  incited  him  to  action,  and  he  resolved 
to  continue  his  labors. 

"  I  have  begun  my  work,"  said  he,  resolutely,  "  and  I 
will  finish  it." 

But  it  was  destined  that  he  should  do  no  more  toward 
it  that  night;  for  just  as  he  had  spoken  his  mother  en- 
tered. She  gave  a  quick,  suspicious  look  around,  and 
*.hen,  in  her  shrill,  metallic  voice,  exclaimed : 

"Hello!  Master  knife-grinder;  what  brings  you  here 
•o  early  ?  No  work  outside  ?  " 

"  ty  is  growing  dark,  so  I  brought  my  work  horn* 


154  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

with  me,"  answered  Pierre,  going  to  bis  wheel  and  com- 
mencing to  work. 

"  So  as  to  be  near  Mamzelle  Louise,  you  mean,"  sneered 
the  old  woman.  "  I  have  my  eye  on  you." 

"  It  would  be  better  to  have  your  eye  on  Jacques ;  but 
you  never  find  fault  with  him." 

"  "Why  should  I  ?  he  is  the  oldest,  and  master  here," 
replied  the  old  hag,  as  she  began  her  preparations  for 
dinner. 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"At  his  work,  to  be  sure,"  answered  MotherFrochard, 
with  a  touch  of  pride  in  her  voice.  "  He  has  worked 
two  days  this  week,  think  of  that!  Isn't  it  a  shame 
that  a  handsome  fellow  like  him  should  have  to  work  ?  " 

"  Don't  I  work  every  day  in  the  week  ?  "  asked  Pierre, 
who  could  not  see  why  it  should  be  shameful  for  his 
brother  to  have  to  work,  and  a  matter  of  course  that 
himself  should  be  busy  from  early  morning  until  late  at 
night. 

"  What  else  are  you  fit  for?  "  sneered  the  old  woman, 
as  she  surveyed  her  son's  deformed  body  with  a  look 
almost  of  disgust. 

The  tears  gathered  in  the  cripple's  eyes,  but  he  man- 
aged to  restrain  them,  and  as  Jacques  entered,  he  had 
turned  round  and  resumed  his  work. 

There  was  a  deep  frown  on  Jacques'  brow  as  he  en- 
tered the  hut,  with  an  angry  gesture  tore  off  the  leath- 
ern apron  he  had  been  wearing  at  his  labor,  flung  him- 
self down  on  the  nearest  chair,  and  with  a  growl  of 
displeasure,  exclaimed : 

"  I  have  had  enough  of  it — no  more  work  for  me.  I 
am  tired  of  it." 

"It  is  tiresome,  isn't  it,  my  son?"  remarked  the  old 
woman,  soothingly. 

"  It's  disgusting ! "  assented  Jacques. 


THE  TWO   ORPHAN*. 

And  turning  to  light  his  pipe,  he  saw  Pierre,  who, 
leaning  against  his  wheel,  was  listening  to  the  difference 
between  his  mother's  reception  of  her  two  sons. 

"  Hello,  Master  Cupid  I  Are  you  there  ?  "  he  cried,  in 
his  rough  commanding  voice.  "  Go  sharpen  my  cutlasa. 
You'll  find  it  at  the  wine-shop  in  the  back  street." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Pierre,  in  a  quiet  way. 

"  What  is  this?  "  asked  Jacques,  as  he  arose  and  went 
toward  the  bed  where  Louise  lay.  "  Asleep,  eh  ?  Why 
isn't  she  at  work  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know,"  chimed  in  the  old 
woman.  "  She's  sleeping  instead  of  working  for  a  liv- 
ing." 

"  Why,  she  is  so  used  to  it  that  she  cries  when  she  is 
asleep,"  laughed  Jacques,  as  he  saw  the  great  tears  roll- 
ing down  the  poor  girl's  wasted  cheeks. 

"  Is  she  crying  ?  "  asked  Pierre,  anxiously,  as  he  went 
toward  the  bed. 

"  What's  that  to  you?  "  fiercely  demanded  Jacques. 

"  She  is  an  obstinate,  lazy  hypocrite,"  replied  the  old 
woman,  producing  each  word  with  an  emphasis,  as  she 
sliced  the  vegetables  for  the  evening  soup.  "  This  morn- 
ing I  had  to  push  her  along  to  make  her  walk  at  all,  and 
as  to  singing,  she  has  no  more  voice  than  a  crow." 

"  I  will  make  her  sing  if  I  try,"  exclaimed  Jacques, 
coarsely,  and  at  the  same  time  making  a  motion  as  if  he 
would  drag  her  from  the  bed. 

"  You  will  kill  her  I "  exclaimed  Pierre,  springing 
toward  his  brother,  as  though  he  would  prevent  him 
from  touching  the  poor  girl.  "  Can't  you  see  that  she  ia 
sick?" 

"  Nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  Mother  Frochard.  "  Sh«  ia 
shamming ;  I  know  her  tricks." 

41  What  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  "  asked  Jacques. 


156  THE  TWO   ORPHANf. 

"  She  nas  got  some  new  notion  in  her  head,  I  can1! 
tell  what,"  said  his  mother. 

"I  can  tell  you,"  said  Pierre.  "You  remember  tin 
night  of  the  snow-storm  ?  After  finishing  her  song,  she 
cried  out  to  the  top  of  her  voice,  '  Henriette  I  Henriette ! 
Henriette  !  my  sister '  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  stopped  her  mouth  pretty  quick,"  said 
the  old  woman,  chuckling  to  herself. 

"Yes — yes,  you  twisted  her  arm  until  you  nearly 
broke  it,"  and  as  Pierre  thought  of  the  brutal  treatment 
to  which  Louise  was  subjected  that  night,  the  sobs  came 
BO  fast  as  to  almost  prevent  his  speaking. 

"  Well,  why  didn't  she  mind  me  ?  "  asked  La  Frochard, 
unconcernedly. 

"  You're  killing  her." 

"  I  can't  afford  so  support  her  in  idleness.  She  must 
work,  or  if  she  won't " 

"  I'll  find  the  way  to  make  her,"  said  Jacques,  finish- 
ing the  sentence  his  mother  had  begun. 

"You!  What  would  you  do?"  asked  Pierre,  trem- 
bling with  fear. 

"  That  is  my  business." 

By  this  time  the  old  woman  had  finished  her  prepara- 
tions for  dinner,  and  after  putting  the  food  over  the  fire 
to  cook,  she  went  to  the  poor  blind  girl,  who,  entirely 
exhausted  by  the  long  walks  she  was  obliged  to  take, 
had  remained  sound  asleep  during  the  time  they  had 
been  conversing. 

With  no  gentle  hand  the  old  hag  grasped  the  young 
girl  by  the  arm,  and  pulled  her  to  her  feet. 

"Come,  get  up,  my  fine  lady,"  she  said.  "No  more 
airs,  you  must  go  out  and  earn  your  living.  Here,  make 
your  toilet  first.  Let  down  this  hair,"  and  the  old  wretch 
gave  Louise's  hair  a  sudden  wrench,  and  it  fell  rippling 
about  her  form. 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  157 

"Give  me  that  shawl,  and  take  off  this  scarf,  they 
keep  you  too  warm,"  and  as  she  spoke,  La  Frochard 
took  the  articles  she  had  spoken  of  from  the  girl,  and 
put  them  on  herself,  tying  the  scarf  carefully  around  her 
own  throat.  "  You'll  shiver  more  comfortably  without 
these  things." 

"  And  that  is  what  they  call  making  her  toilet,"  mat* 
tered  Pierre  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

TORTURE. 

LOUISE  stood  trembling  with  fear  and  ccld,  as  the  old 
woman  was  thus  preparing  her  to  go  out  begging,  and 
she  had  need  of  all  her  strength  even  to  stand,  much 
less  walk. 

She  could  hardly  be  worse  off  than  she  was  now,  and 
ehe  resolved  to  brave  the  power  of  her  tormentors. 

"Eh— eh?  What  next?"  asked  the  old  woman, 
sharply,  and  turning  to  Jacques,  she  said,  with  a  sneer: 
41  Do  you  hear  that  ?  She  doesn't  wish  to  go  out." 

"We'll  see  about  that,"  and  the  threat  implied  in 
Jacques1  brutal  tones  caused  the  poor  girl  to  tremble  as 
if  an  ague  fit. 

Pierre  saw  the  storm  that  was  gathering,  and  knew 
that  it  must  soon  break  upon  the  blind  girl's  defenseless 
head.  Anxious  to  save  her  all  the  trouble  he  could,  he 
went  close  to  her  and  whispered  warningly :  "  Take  care." 

"  Come  here,  my  little  beauty,"  said  Jacques,  coarsely 
as  he  attempted  to  take  her  hand. 

"  I  forbid  you  to  touch  me !  "  exclaimed  the  poor  girl, 
recoiling  in  horror  from  his  villainous  touch. 

"  Oh,  ho  I "  sneered  the  brute  in  human  form,  "  then  w« 
ire  no  longer  friend*  " 


158  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

"  You !  Friends !  "  exclaimed  Louise.  "  You're  cruel 
wretches  I " 

"  Yet  you  were  glad  enough  to  share  our  home  when 
we  picked  you  up  in  the  streets." 

"  Yes.  I  was  grateful  to  you  then,  because  you  offered 
me  a  shelter.  Alas !  I  learned  too  soon  that  it  was 
not  pity  for  my  misfortunes  that  moved  you.  No — no, 
you  wanted  to  make  use  of  my  affliction.  You  have 
starved,  tortured,  beaten  me  ;  but  now,  feeble  as  I  am, 
my  will  shall  be  stronger  than  your  violence.  I  will  beg 
DO  more  1 " 

As  Louise  thus  declared  her  intention  of  submitting 
no  longer  to  the  demands  of  her  tormentors,  she  stood 
erect,  and  her  slight  form  seemed  to  expand,  and  for  the 
moment  she  undoubtedly  had  the  strength  to  resist ;  but 
alas!  only  for  a  moment  could  she  expect  to  have 
strength  enough  even  to  permit  of  her  standing  erect. 

"  When  her  blood  is  up  she  is  superb,"  said  Jacques, 
gazing  with  admiration  upon  her. 

"Oh,  well — well,"  laughed  the  old  woman,  "that  is  all 
mighty  fine;  but  where  is  the  bread  and  butter  to  come 
from?" 

"  I  care  not,"  said  Louise,  firmly. 

"Do  you  hear?"  asked  Pierre,  of  his  mother,  while 
he  gazed  at  Louise  in  alarm.  "  Do  you  know  what  she 
means?  She  will  starve  rather  than  beg." 

"  Nonsense  I "  was  the  sneering  reply.  "  She  will  get 
tired  of  that  soon  enough." 

"  Never  1 "  cried  the  blind  girl. 

"  Well,  we'll  see  if  locking  you  up  in  the  garret  won't 
bring  you  to  your  senses." 

And  the  old  woman  laughed,  as  she  saw  the  flush  of 
fear  that  passed  over  the  poor  girl's  face,  and  she  noticed 
that  her  attitude  was  not  so  defiant. 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  159 

"If  I  enter  that  place  I  shall  never  leave  it  alive," 
said  Louise,  piteously. 

"  Poor  child — poor  child ! "  exclaimed  Pierre,  as  he 
turned  away  to  hide  his  tears. 

"  Why,  shs  is  magnificent,"  said  Jacques,  in  admira- 
tion. "  I'd  never  have  believed  that  she  had  so  much 
spirit." 

As  he  spoke  he  went  toward  the  trembling  girl,  and 
tried  to  kiss  her ;  but  she  managed  to  escape  from  him. 

As  Jacques  attempted  this  outrage,  Pierre  rushed  for- 
ward as  though  he  would  strike  him  to  the  earth ;  but 
he  checked  himself,  and  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  filled  with 
reproach : 

"Jacques!" 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  You  don't  like  it,  I  suppose, 
Master  Cupid.  Well,  forbid  it,  why  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

And  Pierre  was  about  to  rush  forward  again  ;  but 
Jacques'  threatening  attitude  caused  him  to  stop,  and  he 
went  to  a  further  corner  of  the  room,  muttering  to  him- 
self: 

"  Oh,  miserable,  cowardly  wretch  that  I  am  I  "  and  he 
sobbed  like  a  child,  as  he  thought  of  his  own  cowardice. 

"Come — come  along,"  said  the  old  woman,  taking 
Louise  again  by  the  arm,  and  dragging  her  toward  the 
steps.  "  You're  strong  enough  when  you  want  to  be. 
Up  into  the  garret  with  you,"  and  the  old  wretch  half- 
carried,  half-dragged  the  poor  girl  along,  until  at  the 
steps  Louise  fell  from  her  grasp,  and  lay  upon  the  stairs, 
seemingly  too  feeble  to  move. 

"Yes,  that  is  right,  mother,  take  her  up,"  said  Jacques, 
encouragingly,  "  get  her  out  of  the  way.  Oh,  come  here, 
I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  he  added,  as  he  suddenly 
thought  of  some  message  that  he  had  forgotten. 

The  old  woman  hurried  down  to  hear  what  her 


160  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

ling  son  had  to  say,  and  as  she  left  Louise  where  she  had 
fallen  upon  the  stairs,  Pierre  took  the  opportunity  of 
slipping  around  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  staircase,  and 
whispering : 

"  You  can  escape.  I  have  unscrewed  the  lock.  The 
key  to  the  street  door  is  under  your  mattress.  Trust  to 
Heaven  to  guard  you.  Nothing  worse  can  happen  than 
threatens  you  here." 

He  finished  whispering  just  in  time  to  hear  Jacques 
say  to  his  mother : 

"  Lock  her  up  securely.  I  have  my  reasons  for  dis- 
trusting Master  Cupid." 

"Yes — yes,  I  understand,"  replied  the  old  woman, 
shaking  her  head  knowingly. 

"  Come,  my  innocent,  hard-working  brother,"  ordered 
Jacques,  in  a  sneering  tone,  "  come  with  me,  I  war.t 
you." 

"  I  have  work  here,"  answered  Pierre,  as  he  went  to 
his  wheel,  and  commenced  to  work. 

"And  I  have  work  for  you  elsewhere,"  exclaimed 
Jacques,  in  an  angry  tone,  and  with  a  menacing  gesture. 
"  I  told  you  to  sharpen  my  cutlass.  Come  with  me,  and 
keep  your  whining  for  this  blind  beauty  until  another 
,ime;  come  along,  I  say." 

The  cripple  did  not  dare  to  disobey  his  brother's 
orders  when  they  were  given  in  that  manner ;  and  he 
started  slowly  toward  him,  muttering: 

"  Ah  I  if  I  had  anything  but  water  in  my  veins,  I'd  do 
something  more  than  whine." 


1'HE  TWO   OEPHAN8. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

VISITORS. 

As  the  door  closed  upon  her  two  sons,  the  old  wornu. 
gave  way  to  her  feelings  of  admiration  for  her  handsome 
Jacques. 

Louise  lay  on  the  stairs  as  rigid  as  if  she  had  been 
carved  from  stone. 

La  Frochard  seated  herself  by  the  table,  and  com- 
muned with  herself. 

"Ah,  what  a  splendid  fellow  Jacques  is!  The  very 
image  of  his  dear  father.  There  was  a  man  for  you ; 
but  they  cut  off  his  head.  Ah  I  it  makes  me  sick  to 
think  of  it.  I  must  take  something  to  strengthen  mo." 

Mother  Frochard  had  great  faith  in  the  virtue  of 
brandy  as  a  means  of  strengthening  herself,  and  she  com- 
menced to  search  in  her  capacious  pocket  for  the  brandy 
bottle  which  she  always  carried. 

"  Yes — yes,  young  woman,"  she  said,  threateningly,  as 
she  continued  her  search,  "  I'll  attend  to  you  in  a 
minute." 

She  had  found  the  bottle,  and  taking  a  long  draught, 
she  exclaimed : 

"  Ah !  that  warms  my  heart  I  "  Then  after  another 
drink,  she  said,  much  as  she  would  have  said  had  Louise 
been  before  her  instead  of  lying  on  the  stairs  in  nearly 
a  swoon:  "  We'll  see  how  you  enjoy  a  couple  of  days' 
starvation.  Yes,  Jacques  is  right,  we  must  break  your 
obstinate  spirit.  Then  when  you  come  out  you  won't 
refuse  to  help  your  friends  make  an  honest  living." 

Another  deep  pull  at  the  bottle,  and  the  old  bag  was 
ready  for  any  work,  however  wicked.     With  a  fiendish 
look  upon  her  face,  she  went  to  the  blind  girl,  and,  tak- 
ing her  by  the  arms,  forced  her  to  staud. 
W 


X62  THE  TWO   OKPHANS. 

"Shamming  again,  you  are?  Stand  up  and  com* 
with,  me,"  and  the  old  wretch  began  to  pull  the  poor  girl 
up  the  dilapidated  stairs. 

"  Oh,  madaine  1 "  screamed  Louise,  in  an  agon j  of 
terror,  as  she  fully  understood  that  she  was  about  to  be 
confined  again  in  the  garret,  "  have  you  no  soul,  no  pity  ? 
Do  not  kill  me  I " 

"  I  don't  intend  to,  you're  too  valuable,"  replied  the  old 
woman,  who  had  succeeded  in  getting  Louise  to  the  door, 
and  opening  it,  she  thrust  her  in.  "  There,  get  in  with 
you,  I'll  see  you  safe  inside." 

So  frantically  did  the  terrified  girl  cling  to  the  old 
woman's  garments,  that  she  found  it  impossible  to  shake 
her  off,  and  was  obliged  to  go  in  with  her  until  she  could 
threaten  her  into  something  approaching  a  state  of  sub- 
mission. 

******* 

While  La  Frochard  is  thus  pleasantly  engaged,  we  will, 
in  a  few  brief  words,  explain  what  happened  after 
MaYianne  was  carried  away  into  exile. 

Henriette  remained  at  La  Salpetriere  until  nightfall, 
and  in  the  meantime  the  Count  de  Linieres  had  received 
notice  that  she  had  embarked  in  the  prison  ship.  He  at 
once  gave  Pi  card  the  necessary  orders  for  the  release  of 
the  chevalier,  and  at  dusk,  he  and  Henriette  and  De 
Vaudrey  were  together,  discussing  plans  for  the  release 
of  Louise. 

Picard  proved  a  valuable  aid  in  the  matter,  and  before 
Henriette  had  been  out  of  prison  an  hour,  she  was  on  her 
way  to  find  the  blind  girl  from  whom  she  had  been  sep- 
arated so  long. 

They  had  no  difficulty  in  procuring  a  warrant  for  the 
arrest  of  Jacques  and  his  mother,  and  a  guard  to  execute 
it,  and  thus  armed  with  the  power  of  the  law,  they  antici» 
pated  no  trouble. 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  168 

The  boat-house  occupied  by  the  Frochards  had,  as  th« 
reader  will  remember,  an  entrance  opening  on  the  Seine 
which  was  seldom  used,  and  the  only  other  means  of 
entering  the  house  was  through  a  long,  dark  passage 
leading  from  the  Eue  Noir.  At  the  entrance  of  this  pas- 
sage the  rescuing  party  halted,  and  it  was  then  decided 
that  Picard  should  lead  the  guards  around  to  the  door  on 
the  river  side,  while  the  chevalier  should  proceed  through 
the  passage,  contriving  to  reach  the  house  at  the  same 
time  the  soldiers  did. 

It  was  thought  necessary  that  the  chevalier  should  go 
to  the  next  street  where  he  could  watch  the  movements 
of  the  guards,  and  thus  time  his  own  movements.  Leav- 
ing Henriette  at  the  entrance  of  the  passage,  with  many 
cautions  that  she  should  not  stir  from  the  spot,  he  hur- 
ried away. 

To  the  young  girl  who  had  thus  waited  the  prepara- 
tions which  were  to  restore  her  to  her  sister,  the  time 
passed  with  leaden  wings,  and  she  could  not  remain 
inactive.  She  resolved  to  enter  the  house  in  advance  of 
the  others,  and  thus  have  the  pleasure  of  clasping  her 
sister  in  her  arms  a  few  moments  sooner. 

Alone  she  threaded  the  dark,  noisome  passage.  Alone 
she  pursued  her  rash  journey,  prompted  by  her  great 
love  for  her  sister,  braving  all  the  horrors  of  that  viper's 
den  in  order  that  she  might  meet  her  sister  a  few 
moments  sooner. 

******* 

Mother  Frochard  descended  from  the  garret;  she  had 
left  Louise  insensible,  and  having  thus  performed  her 
duty,  betook  herself  to  the  consolation  which  she  could 
derive  from  her  brandy  bottle. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  starting 
in  affright,  she  hid  her  bottle  among  some  of  the  cook- 


164  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

ing  utensils  that  littered  the  table,  and  advanced  to 
door,  asking: 

"  Who's  there  ?     What  do  you  want  ?  " 

It  was  Henriette's  voice  that  said  from  the  outside : 

"  I  am  looking  foi  some  one- — for  Madame  Frochard.'* 

"What  do  you  want  of  her?  "  asked  the  old  woman, 
suspiciously,  and  making  no  motion  toward  opening  the 
door. 

"  I  must  speak  with  her." 

"Are  you  alone?  " 

"Yes,  I  am  alone." 

The  answer  seemed  to  satisfy  La  Frochard,  for  she  im- 
mediately unfastened  the  door,  saying: 

"  Well,  if  you  are  alone,  you  may  come  in." 

Henriette  entered,  and  but  a  single  look  at  the  squalid 
place  frightened  her.  The  whole  house  looked  a  fit 
abode  for  murderers  and  thieves,  and  the  appearance  of 
the  old  woman  seemed  to  heighten  that  impression. 

"  Great  Heavens  I  can  this  be  the  place  ?  "  she  asked 
herself,  in  astonishment. 

As  she  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  gazing  with 
fear  and  trembling  upon  every  object,  Mother  Frochard 
was  favoring  her  with  suspicious  looks. 

"  Well,  young  woman,"  she  said,  after  waiting  a  few 
moments  for  Henriette  to  speak,  "you  want  to  see 
Madame  Frochard — what  have  you  got  to  say  to  her?  " 

Still  Henriette  hesitated,  and  placed  her  hand  upon 
her  heart  to  still  its  tumultuous  beatings. 

"  Come,  what  is  it?  "  again  asked  the  old  woman,  im- 
patiently. "  What  are  you  looking  for  ?  Do  you  expect 
to  find  any  one  here  ?  " 

"  Yes — yes.  I  am  looking  for  the  person  who  lives 
here  with  you." 

"What  person?"  and  Mother  Frochard '§  metallic 
voice  was  harder  and  shriller  than  ever. 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  165 

"A  young  girl,"  answered  Henriette. 
"Ah,  ha  I  "  thought  the  old  woman,  "  this  must  be  the 
Bister."     Then  she  said,  in  an  indifferent  voice :  "  I  don't 
know  any  thing  about  any  young  girl." 

"  You  don't  know  her  ?  "  asked  Henriette,  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"No." 

"  Am  I  mistaken  ?  This  house  answers  the  descrip- 
tion, and  your  name  is  Frochard,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Elphremie  Frochard.     What  then  ?  " 

"  You  beg  in  the  streets  with  a  young  girl  who  sings, 
do  you  not  ?  " 

"Me  beg  in  the  streets!  "  replied  the  old  woman,  in  a 
highly  indignant  tone,  as  if  the  idea  of  such  a  tiling  was 
an  insult  to  her.  "  Why  should  I  beg?  Haven't  I  two 
sons  who  work  for  me?  One  of  them  is  a  knife-grinder 
— look,  there  is  his  wheel,  and  the  other  one  is — oh,  if 
he  were  only  here  now  1  " 

"  You  must  be  the  one,"  said  Henriette,  half  to  her- 
self, "  the  doctor  told  me  that  he  knew  you,  and " 

Henriette  stopped  talking,  and  gave  utterance  to  a 
scream,  expressive  of  surprise  and  fear. 

She  had  noticed  the  shawl  and  scarf  which  the  old 
woman  had  taken  from  Louise,  and  fastened  upon  herself. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  old  hag  in  no  little 
surprise. 

"That  shawl — I  know  itl  It  is  hers — it  is  hers,  I  tell 
you  ! "  screamed  Henriette,  as  a  thousand  fears  for  her 
sister's  safety  presented  themselves  to  her  mind. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  it  is  mine,"  boldly  asserted  La 
Frochard,  thinking  she  could  make  the  young  girl  be- 
lieve her. 

"  And  this  scarf  around  your  neck  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?  " 

"It  was  made  for  hereby  my  own  handa! "  exclaimed 


166  THE   TWO   OEPHANS. 

Henriette,  tearing  it  from  the  old  woman's  neck. 
wretch  I  you  have  lied  to  me ! " 

For  an  instant  La  Frochard  was  astonished.  She  had 
thought  to  persuade  Henriette  that  she  knew  nothing 
about  her  sister ;  but  it  was  impossible. 

fler  round,  wicked  face  grew  perfectly  fiendish  with 
rage,  as  she  hissed  through  her  set  teeth,  the  single 
word:  "  Caught  1" 

Then,  after  a  moment's  thought,  she  turned  to  Hen- 
riette  with  a  smile  that  was  intended  to  be  sympathetic. 

"  Well — well/'  she  said,  in  a  sorrowful  voice,  "  if  you 
must  know  the  truth,  I'll  tell  you.  When  you  came  in, 
you  were  so  excited  and  frightened,  I  didn't  dare  to 
tell  you  all " 

"All — all  what?"  interrupted  Henriette,  in  an  agony 
of  apprehension.  "Speak  quickly." 

"One  evening  about  three  months  ago,"  continued 
Mother  Frochard,  "I  met  the  girl  you  are  looking  for, 
wandering  about  the  streets.  I  had  pity  on  her,  and 
brought  her  home  with  me,  where  I  took  care  of  her." 

The  old  woman  stopped  to  wipe  away  imaginary  tears, 
but  the  agonized  girl  exclaimed: 

"  Go  on,  for  Heaven's  sake,  go  on." 

"  Well,"  whined  the  old  hag,  "  she  knew  I  was  poor 
and  couldn't  afford  to  keep  her  for  nothing,  so  she  sung- 
sometimes  in  the  street — just  to  help  me — and  she  sung 
like  a  little  bird." 

Again  the  old  woman's  feelings  overcame  her,  and  she 
was  obliged  to  stop. 

"  And  then,  what  then  ?  " 

"  And  then,  why,  you  see  the  poor  child  wasn't  very 
strong,  and  what  with  the  life  we  led,  and  the  sorrow  she 
felt,  she  couldn't  stand  it,  and  the  poor  little  bird  broke 
down  entirely.  She  said  she  couldn't  sing  any  more,  and 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  167 

that  was  the  end  of  it.  For  two  days  she  has  been  dumb. 
She'll  sing  no  more — no  more." 

As  Mother  Frochard  finished,  her  voice,  which  at  first 
had  had  the  professional  whine  in  it,  sunk  almost  to  a 
whisper,  and  seating  herself  in  a  chair,  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  apron,  and  simulated  an  agony  of  grief. 

"  Dead  I  "  exclaimed  Henriette,  while  every  vestige  of 
color  left  her  face,  and  she  stood  like  one  petrified ; 
"  dead,  my  sister,  my  Louise  is  dead  !  "  and  overcome  by 
her  intense  sorrow,  she  sunk  insensible  on  the  floor. 

"Fainted,  eh?"  cried  the  old  woman,  jumping  up 
quickly,  and  gazing  at  the  prostrate  girl.  "  What  am  I 
to  do  with  her?  "  Oh,  if  Jacques  were  only  here!  I 
must  go  for  him." 

She  started  toward  the  door ;  but  the  thought  flashed 
over  her  that  she  had  forgotten  to  lock  the  garret  door 
and  she  ran  back  and  performed  that  duty. 

"There,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  "there 
is  nothing  to  fear  now,  and  I'll  go  and  call  Jacques." 

The  old  woman  departed  in  search  of  her  son,  leaving 
Henriette  lying  upon  the  floor. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE   RECOGNITION. 

NOT  many  minutes  after  Mother  Frochard  went  in 
search  of  Jacques,  Louise,  recovering  her  consciousness, 
tyhich  she  had  lost  through  the  beating  the  old  woman 
had  given  her,  to  force  her  to  remain  in  the  garret, 
pushed  with  all  her  feeble  strength  against  the  door  of 
her  prison,  and,  as  Pierre  had  loosened  the  screws,  it 
yielded  to  her  pressure,  and  she  was  freed  from  her  place 
ef  torture. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  with 


168  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

her  ear  strained  to  the  utmost  tension  to  catch  any  sound 
that  would  betoken  the  presence  of  any  one  in  the  hut. 

But  all  was  still,  and  she  commenced  to  descend  the 
Rtairs,  feeling  her  way  carefully,  lest  she  should  stumble 
on  some  of  the  decayed  boards. 

"  They  are  all  gone,"  she  murmured.  "Pierre  told  me 
the  truth,  the  lock  would  not  hold.  Yes,  I  will  follow 
his  advice.  If  I  can  find  my  way  to  the  street  through 
that  long  passage,  I  was  ask  the  first  passer-by  to  take 
me  to  that  good  doctor  at  the  Hospital  St.  Louis." 

Trembling  with  excitement,  she  felt  her  way  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  where  one  step  further  in  the  same 
direction  would  have  brought  her  in  contact  with  the 
insensible  body  of  her  sister ;  and  then  groping  for  the 
wall,  she  reached  the  door. 

With  a  cry  of  joy  she  reached  it,  and  felt,  with  eager, 
feverish  hands,  for  the  rude  latch. 

Eagerly  she  tried  to  open  it,  but  it  resisted  all  her 
efforts ;  and  as  the  truth  flashed  over  her  mind,  her 
hands  dropped  by  her  side,  and  she  sunk  to  the  floor, 
like  one  smitten  with  the  palsy. 

"  Locked—locked !     What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

The  sudden  change  from  hope  that  was  almost  a  cer- 
tainty, to  deep  despair,  overpowered  her  for  the  moment. 

But  at  last  she  remembered  what  she  should  have 
thought  of  before. 

"  Pierre  told  me  he  had  made  another  key  for  it,"  and 
starting,  she  groped  her  way  across  the  room  toward  her 
bed,  almost  brushing  the  garments  of  that  sister  she  was 
so  anxious  to  meet  as  she  passed. 

With  hands  trembling  so  that  she  could  hardly  con- 
trol them,  Louise  felt  for  the  precious  key  that  should 
assure  her  of  freedom. 

A  cry  of  joy  burst  from  her  pallid,  quivering  lips,  as 
her  fingers  came  in  contact  with  the  precious  object. 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  169 

"  Good,  brave  Pierre  I "  she  exclaimed,  thankfully. 
"Now  I  will  go  at  once." 

She  arose  to  her  feet,  and  made  two  or  three  attempts 
in  the  right  direction,  when  her  foot  came  in  contact  with 
the  clothing  of  Henriette. 

Hastily  she  stooped  down,  and  felt  of  the  inanimate 
body. 

"  A  woman  1"  she  exclaimed,  in  accents  of  deepest 
terror.  "  She  ia  cold — she  is  dead !  " 

Terribly  alarmed  at  what  she  could  not  see,  the  poor 
girl,  believing  herself  to  be  in  the  presence  of  death, 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  crouched  close  to 
the  floor. 

"  Oh,  Heavens  !  "  she  cried,  "  they  have  committed 
some  terrible  crime  and  fled  !  " 

She  timidly  stretched  out  her  hand,  and  passed  it  once 
more  over  the  still  form.  In  so  doing  she  felt  the  heart 
beat,  and  with  a  glad  cry  she  raised  the  head  of  the  per- 
son before  her. 

"  She  is  not  deadl  madame,  madame,  speak,  speak  to 
me !  She  does  not  hear  me  1  "What  shall  I  do  ?  I  can- 
not leave  her  thus  !  " 

Dear  as  was  her  liberty  to  the  poor  blind  child,  she 
could  not  leave  a  fellow  creature  in  distress,  and  she 
tried  by  every  means  in  her  power  to  awake  the  inseusi'- 
ble  girl. 

While  she  was  thus  engaged  Mother  Frochard  and 
Jacques  entered. 

For  a  single  instant  they  stood  transfixed  with  sur- 
prise, and  then,  with  a  single  thought,  they  rushed  to- 
ward the  two  girls. 

"  Separate  them  at  once — quick  I  "  shouted  Jacques  to 
his  mother,  who  was  a  few  steps  in  advance. 

La  Frochard  did  not  need  this  warning  cry  to   ioduce 


170  THE   TWO   ORPHANS. 

her  to  rush  toward  Louise,  and  grasp  her  roughly  by  the 
arm. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  she  cried.  "  How  did  you 
get  out  ?  " 

Louise  clung  to  the  body  of  Henriette,  to  prevent  the 
old  woman  from  carrying  her  away ;  but  her  slight 
strength  was  of  no  avail  against  the  old  hag's  determi- 
nation, and  she  was  rudely  flung  against  the  staircase. 

As  if  roused  by  the  noise,  Heimette  opened  her  eyes, 
and  showed  signs  of  returning  consciousness. 

"  Quick !"  shouted  Jacques,  as  he  saw  this  movement 
of  Henriette's,  "  get  her  out  of  the  way — quick,  I  tell 
you,  the  other  one  is  coming  to." 

"  Get  back  with  you — at  once !  "  cried  the  old  woman, 
at  the  same  time  dragging  Louise  up  the  stairs,  and  ac- 
companying each  word  with  a  cruel  blow. 

Just  at  this  moment  Pierre  entered,  and  seeing  Hen- 
riette lying  upon  the  floor,  and  Louise  struggling  upon 
the  stairs,  he  understood  at  once  tjiat  it  was  the  sister 
whom  Louise  had  so  earnestly  prayed  to  meet. 

"  But  the  woman  who  is  lying  there  ?  "  cried  Louise  to 
the  old  woman. 

"  That's  our  business,  and  none  of  yours.  Get  along 
with  you." 

As  La  Frochard  got  Louise  to  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
Henriette,  who  had  risen  to  her  feet,  saw  the  blind  girl, 
and  running  toward  her,  she  exclaimed : 

"Ah,  Louise — Louise  1" 

Jacques  seized  her  instantly,  and  putting  his  hand  over 
ber  mouth,  prevented  her  from  speaking  again,  or  ad- 
vancing any  further.  But  the  blind  girl  had  caught  the 
sound  of  her  sister's  voice,  and  that  lent  her  additional 
strength. 

Uttering  a  cry  of  surprise  and  joy,  she  endeavored  to 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  171 

escape  from  the  old  wretch  who  was  nearly  choking  her 
to  death. 

"  Go  in — I  tell  you ;  get  in  with  you  I  "  cried  La  Fro- 
chard,  as  she  pushed  Louise  iu  the  room,  and  released 
her  hold  of  her  throat  in  order  to  shut  the  door. 

Just  then  Henriette  had  succeeded  in  pushing  Jacques: 
hand  from  her  mouth,  and  running  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  cried,  in  a  loud  voice  : 

"  Louise !     Sister  I  " 

The  cry  gave  Louise  the  strength  of  a  lioness  for  a 
moment,  and  pushing  the  old  woman  back,  she  ran  down 
the  stairs,  and  the  two,  so  long  separated,  met  in  a  close, 
loving  embrace. 

"  Henriette — Henriette !  ''  exclaimed  Louise,  joyfully, 
covering  her  sister's  face  with  kisses.  "  It  is  you — it  is 
you !  " 

"  Oh,  my  poor  Louise — my  poor  Louise ! "  said  Hen- 
riette, caressing  her  sister's  face.  "  How  you  must  have 
suffered  here  among  these  miserable  wretches  1  Yes, 
miserable  wretches  that  you  are,"  she  continued,  turning 
to  Jacques  and  his  mother,  who,  now  that  the  sisters 
were  aware  of  each  other's  presence,  felt  that  it  would 
make  their  own  case  more  desperate  to  attempt  to  part 
them,  "  I  will  have  you  punished." 

She  led  Louise  toward  the  door  ;  but  Jacques,  seeing 
her  movement,  darted  past  her,  and  placed  himself 
directly  in  front  of  the  door. 

11  Let  us  go  at  once  I  "  commanded  Henriette.  "  Let 
us  go  1 " 

"  You  shall  not  go!"  replied  Jacques,  in  a  rage. 

"  What!  would  you  dare  to  prevent  us?  " 

"  Mother,"  said  Pierre,  going  toward  La  Frochard,  and 
speaking  in  a  low  voice,  "you  had  better  warn  him 
against  violence.  It  is  dangerous." 


172  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

"  We  must  keep  them,"  replied  tne  old  -woman,  ii& 
patiently,  "  if  they  escape,  they  will  denounce  us." 

"  You  cannot  leave  here  I  "  reiterated  Jacques. 

"  I  will  cry  out  1 "  said  Henriette,  firmly  ;  "  I  will  call 
for  help  1" 

"  Try  it,"  was  the  fierce  reply,  "  and  see  what  good  ^ 
will  do.  Besides,  I  warn  you  we  corne  of  a  family  who 
killl"  As  he  said  this,  he  rushed  toward  Louise,  and 
seizing  her  roughly  by  the  arm,  dragged  her  toward  him. 

"She  is  mine,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  I  will  keep  her !  " 

Louise  uttered  a  scream  which  pierced  Pierre's  very 
heart,  and  infused  into  him  that  courage  which  he 
thought  he  was  so  deficient  in. 

"  Oh,  this  is  infamous  I "  he  cried,  as  he  rushed  be- 
tween Jacques  and  Louise. 

"  Do  you  dare  to  interfere  against  me  ?  "  cried  Jac- 
ques, almost  beside  himself  with  rage. 

"  I  dare !  "  answered  Pierre,  and  there  was  that  in  his 
eyes  which  Jacques  had  never  seen  there  before. 

"Against  me?"  he  exclaimed  again,  as  though  in 
doubt  that  he  had  heard  aright. 

"  Yes,  against  you,"  said  Pierre,  boldly.  "  I  have 
acted  the  coward  long  enough.  I  thought  because  you 
were  big  and  strong  that  you  were  brave ;  but  you  are 
not.  You  fight  with  women — you  are  a  coward  I  In 
their  defense  my  courage  will  be  more  than  a  match 
for  your  strength." 

"  Brave  Pierre  1 "  exclaimed  Louise,  encouragingly. 

"Depend  on  me,  mademoiselle,"  replied  the  cripple, 
who  seemed  to  have  grown  less  deformed,  and  more  of 
a  man  through  his  new-born  courage. 

""What  do  you  want?"  demanded  Jacques,  whom 
this  new  phase  of  Pierre's  character  had  astonished,  and 
he  could  hardly  believe  what  he  saw. 


THE  TWO  OKPHAN8.  178 

11  Let  these  two  women  go  I "  was  the  cripple's  firm 

reply. 

"  Indeed  1 "  sneered  Jacques.  "  Suppose  I  refuse,  what 
then?" 

As  he  asked  the  question  he  looked  at  his  brother  as 
if  he  would  intimidate  him  with  a  glance  as  had  been 
his  wont  in  days  past. 

But  Pierre's  new-born  courage  was  deep.  He  drew 
it  from  a  source  that  could  still  cause  it  to  remain,  and 
that  source  was  the  trembling,  pallid  girl  by  his  side. 

"  What  then  ?  "  repeated  Pierre,  "  what  then  ?  Well, 
you  have  said  it :  '  We  come  of  a  family  who  kill.' " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

REPARATION. 

LET  us  for  a  few  moments  visit  the  private  office  of 
the  minister  of  police. 

The  Count  de  Linieres  is  seated  at  his  writing-table, 
engaged  in  deep  thought.  Around  him  are  all  the  evi- 
dences of  luxury  which  wealth  can  purchase,  and  yet  he 
does  not  appear  comfortable.  He  has  just  received  word 
of  commendation  from  the  king,  and  yet  he  is  not  satis- 
fied with  himself. 

Picard  had  called  at  the  office  of  the  minister  a  few 
jours  previous,  and  by  asserting  that  Henri ette  Girard 
had  been  taken  from  La  Salpetriere,  and  was  then  on 
her  way  to  the  prison  ship  in  company  with  the  other 
condemned  prisoners,  and  also  by  producing  the  cer- 
tificate of  the  guard,  the  valet  had  received  an  order 
for  the  release  of  the  Chevalier  de  Taudrey  from  the 
Bastile. 

The  count  had  asserted  the  authority  of  the  familj, 


174  THE  TWO   OKPIIANS. 

and  the  power  of  his  office,  and  yet  there  were  many 
things  on  his  mind  which  he  could  not  banish. 

He  reviewed  his  conduct  toward  Henriette,  and  in  his 
heart  he  could  not  congratulate  himself  for  the  part  he 
had  taken  in  the  prosecution  of  the  poor  girl. 

He  had  arrested  Henriette  and  sent  her  to  La  Salpe- 
triere  as  a  fallen  woman,  and  now  she  was  on  her  way 
to  a  life-long  exile,  branded  with  a  crime  of  which  he 
knew  she  was  innocent,  and  for  which  she  suffered  be- 
cause of  his  pride  and  ambition. 

"While  he  was  thus  indulging  in  these  gloomy 
thoughts,  his  wife  entered. 

She  had  not  heard  that  Henriette  was  condemned  to 
exile,  and  had  come  to  intercede  for  the  unhappy  girl. 

In  a  few  words  she  explained  the  object  of  her  visit. 

"  It  is  too  late,"  replied  the  count,  abruptly. 

"Too  late  I     Why?" 

"  Because  she  is  now  on  her  way  to  the  place  of  her 
exile,"  replied  De  Linieres,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  half 
ashamed  to  allow  his  wife  to  know  how  far  his  pride 
could  control  his  official  duties. 

"  Exile ! "  exclaimed  the  countess,  sinking  into  a 
chair,  while  a  deathly  pallor  came  over  her  face,  alarm- 
ing the  count  more  than  he  cared  to  show.  "  Why  have 
you  done  this  wicked  thing  ?  " 

Her  husband  made  her  no  answer,  and  for  many  mo- 
ments the  countess  remained  with  her  face  covered  by 
her  hand,  shuddering  with  horror  at  this  most  unjust 
deed  that  had  been  committed  against  a  defenseless,  in- 
nocent girl. 

A  great  struggle  was  going  on  in  her  mind.  Should 
she  at  this  time  confess  all  her  past  life  to  her  husband 
— show  what  Henriette  had  done  for  her  own  child,  and 
lor  that  reason  urge  her  pardon? 

She  trembled  as  she  thought  of  what  her  husband'* 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  175 

wrath  might  be  when  he  learned  all,  and  for  some  time 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  say  those  things  which 
would  alienate  herself  from  him. 

"  When  was  she  sent  away  ?  "  asked  the  countess,  in 
a  voice  trembling  with  emotion. 

"  Two  hours  ago." 

"  Then  there  is  yet  time  to  save  her  from  being  car- 
ried to  that  dreadful  place !  " 

"  There  is  time,  if  I  wish  to  use  it,"  replied  De  Lin- 
ieres,  in  a  significant  tone. 

"  She  must  be  sent  for !  "  exclaimed  the  lady,  in  a 
firm  tone. 

"  Must  be?"  and  the  count  elevated  his  eyebrows  in  a 
manner  peculiar  to  him  when  displeased. 

"  Yes,  must  be,"  repeated  his  wife.  "  I  will  tell  you 
why,  if  you  will  not  interrupt  me;  for  in  that  case  my 
courage  might  fail  me,"  and  in  a  rapid  manner  she  con- 
tinued :  "  Before  I  met  you,  Count  de  Linieres,  I  mar- 
ried without  my  parents'  consent,  and  secretly,  a  poor 
man.  My  parents  discovered  our  secret,  and  almost  be- 
fore my  very  eyes  they  murdered  my  husband.  Soon 
after  I  became  a  mother.  My  child  was  taken  from  me 
and  left  on  the  steps  of  Notre  Dame.  A  poor  man,  Hen- 
riette  Girard's  father,  found  the  child,  carried  it  to  his 
humble  house  and  brought  it  up  as  one  of  his  own. 
That  child  is  the  blind  sister  that  Henriette  was  sepa- 
rated from,  and  whom  we  should  have  found,  had  you 
not  prevented  us  from  leaving  the  house  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Hcjnore.  Henriette  has  taken  care  of,  and  loved  my 
darling  as  her  own  sister." 

For  a  moment  the  countess  paused,  as  if  overcome 
with  emotion,  and  then  throwing  herself  at  the  count's 
feet,  she  said : 

"I  pray  you,  on  my  bended  knees,  to  save  this  girl 
from  the  fearful  and  unjust  doom  you  have  pronounced 


176  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

against  her.  For  my  sake,  who  Lave  suffered  untolcf 
misery  at  being  obliged  to  be  separated  from  my  child, 
and  in  keeping  the  secret  from  you,  I  beg  of  you  to 
save  her  who  has  been  a  mother  to  my  child,  and  who, 
for  the  sake  of  that  child,  refused  the  offers  made  to  her 
by  the  chevalier.  I  beg " 

But  the  poor  woman  could  say  no  more.  Overcome 
by  her  feelings,  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  still 
kneeling  at  her  husband's  feet. 

Very  tenderly  did  the  count  raise  and  support  her  to 
a  chair.  His  countenance  showed  traces  of  the  deepest 
agitation,  and  the  gaze  which  he  fastened  upon  his  wife 
was  mild  and  sympathetic. 

Turning  to  his  table,  he  wrote  a  few  lines  on  the  paper 
which  bore  the  official  seal  of  the  office,  and  then  rang 
the  bell. 

The  automaton  who  acted  as  clerk  appeared,  and  to 
him  the  count  handed  the  paper,  saying: 

"  See  that  this  order  is  executed  without  a  moment's 
delay,  and  bring  the  person  named  therein  to  me  imme- 
diately upon  her  arrival." 

The  clerk  bowed  and  withdrew. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone  again,  the  minister  ap- 
proached his  wife,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  her  head, 
said,  in  a  voice  which  was  singularly  gentle  and  sweet: 

"  My  poor  Diane,  how  you  must  have  suffered  !  " 

In  an  instant  the  countess  had  flung  her  arms  around 
her  husband's  neck,  and  was  weeping  happy  tears  upon 
his  bosom. 

Now  was  the  secret  which  had  existed  so  long  between 
them  and  poisoned  the  lives  of  both,  cleared  away,  and 
for  the  first  time  since  their  married  life  began,  they 
were  united. 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS-  177 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   RESCUE. 

a  moment  Jacques  was  almost  petrified  with  as- 
tonishment. That  Pierre,  the  poor,  spiritless  cripple 
should  thus  defy  him,  was  past  his  comprehension. 

But  only  for  a  moment  did  he  remain  inactive,  and 
then  he  went  toward  the  young  girls  as  if  to  separate 
them. 

"  Dare  to  lay  a  hand  on  either  of  them,"  shouted 
Pierre,  as  he  ran  to  his  wheel  and  took  therefrom  a  long 
knife  which  he  had  been  sharpening,  "  and  I  will  plunge 
this  knife  into  your  heart !" 

Jacques  recoiled  from  before  the  weapon,  and  Pierre 
placed  himself  before  Henriette  and  Louise,  who,  clasped 
in  each  other's  arms,  were  awaiting  the  result  of  the 
struggle  which  was  now  inevitable. 

"  Your  life  shall  pay  for  this  1"  cried  Jacques,  drawing 
his  cutlass  and  going  toward  the  brave  cripple. 

"  Remember  that  you  are  brothers ! "  cried  the  old 
woman,  who  was  now  thoroughly  frightened. 

"  Yes,  brothers  as  of  old,"  said  Pierre,  bitterly,  as  lie 
thought  of  the  brotherly  love  that  Jacques  had  ever 
shown  toward  him,  "  the  sons  of  Adam  ;  only  this  time 
the  parts  are  changed,  and  Abel  will  kill  Cain." 

"  Very  well,  if  you  will  have  it,"  exclaimed  Jacques 
savagely,  as  he  made  a  pass  at  Pierre. 

The  struggle  had  now  commenced,  and  for  a  few  mo- 
ments nothing  could  be  heard  but  the  clashing  of  the 
steel,  and  Jacques'  fearful  oaths. 

But  it  was  not  possible  for  the  cripple  to  hold  out 
long. 

His  brother's  weapon  was  nearly  three  times  as  long 


178  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

as  his,  and  Jacques  had  every  advantage  in  the  point  of 
size  and  strength. 

In  a  short  time  Pierre  had  received  a  blow  on  the 
shoulder,  from  which  the  blood  flowed  freely. 

"  He  is  wounded  I  "  exclaimed  Henriette,  in  a  terrible 
voice. 

"  No  1  "  shouted  Pierre,  hoping  to  deceive  them  as  to 
his  fast  failing  strength. 

"Isn't  that  enough,  cripple?"  asked  Jacques,  in  a 
mocking  tone,  as  he  stopped  for  a  moment  to  gain 
breath. 

"  No  !  "  shouted  the  brave  boy,  "  cut  again,  for  while 
she  is  in  danger  you  may  slash  my  flesh  in  ribbons  ;  I 
shall  feel  nothing  I  " 

Enraged  by  his  words,  Jacques  sprung  upon  him  with 
the  ferocity  of  a  tiger,  and  it  at  once  became  apparent 
that,  however  brave  the  boy  might  be,  he  could  not 
withstand  such  a  furious  assault,  and  that  in  a  very  few 
moments  the  girls  would  again  be  in  the  power  of  the 
villainous  Jacques,  with  no  one  to  defend  or  protect 
them. 

Hoping  that  De  Vaudrey  might  hear  her,  Henriette 
called  in  a  loud,  despairing  voice  . 

"Help—  help!" 

The  cry  seemed  to  arouse  La  Frochard  from  the  apathy 
into  which  she  had  fallen,  and  rushing  toward  Henriette. 
she  placed  her  hand  over  the  girl's  mouth  to  prevent  a 
repetition  of  the  cry. 

But  that  one  cry  had  reached  the  ears  of  the  man  who 
would  have  rushed  into  certain  death  at  the  bidding  of 
that  voice,  and  just  as  Jacques  had  borne  Pierre  to  the 
ground,  and  was  about  to  run  him  through  the  heart, 
the  door  was  flung  open,  and  De  Vaudrey  entered  in 
time  to  strike  Jacques'  weapon  up  from  its  aim. 

Wittu  i*  jAifc?  "  he  exclaimed,  angrily.    "A  ruffian 


** 


s 

x 
N 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  179 

attacking  a  cripple  I  Down  with  your  weapon,  you  vil- 
lain, or  by  Heaven,  I'll  beat  it  out  of  your  hand,  and  spit 
you,  as  I  would  a  dog." 

Jacques  could  read  but  very  little  mercy  in  the  cheva- 
lier's countenance,  and  he  retreated  out  of  the  reach  o' 
ihe  weapon. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  interfere  ? "  he  cried, 
savagely.  "  You  shall  pay  for  this." 

As  the  chevalier  entered,  the  old  woman,  seeing  that 
all  was  discovered,  had  gone  toward  Louise,  and  was  try- 
ing to  drag  her  away,  though  for  what  purpose,  or  what 
she  could  hope  to  effect  by  it,  it  would  be  impossible  So 
say. 

But  Pierre,  who  had  not  allowed  Louise  to  escape 
from  his  sight  a  moment,  lest  in  his  rage  at  being  baffled 
Jacques  should  attempt  to  wreak  his  vengeance  on  the 
young  girl,  now  sprung  to  her  assistance,  and  forced  his 
mother  to  the  further  end  of  the  room. 

The  chevalier  turned  his  head  for  a  moment  to  dis- 
cover the  cause  of  the  disturbance,  and  Jacques,  think- 
ing that  he  had  an  opportunity  for  revenge,  raided  hia 
sword  to  strike. 

Another  moment  and  De  Vaudrey  would  have  received 
his  death  blow ;  but  a  low,  warning  cry  from  Henri ette 
caused  him  to  turn  his  head  just  in  time  to  ward  off  the 
blow. 

Jacques  sprung  back  to  avoid  a  pass  that  the  cheva- 
lier made  at  him,  and  thus  escaped  for  tbe  moment. 

"  Now,  villain,  down  with  your  weapon,  I  say,  and 
permit  these  ladies  to  leave  this  place  before  you  compel 
me  to  punish  you  as  you  deserve.'* 

As  he  spoke,  De  Vaudrey  moved  toward  Henriette. 

"  Ha — ha  I "  laughed  Jacques,  now  grown  farious. 
"You  punish  me!  So  you  are  the  lover  of  the  other 
one.  Well,  take  her  and  ^o ;  leave  the  little  one  to  we." 


180  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

And  Jacques  placed  himself  before  the  door  with  up* 
lifted  weapon  to  prevent  Louise  from  leaving  the  house. 

"  Scoundrel,"  cried  Dt  Vaudrej,  advancing  toward  him. 

Again  the  clash  of  steel  rung  out  in  that  squalid 
hut;  but  this  time  it  was  not  Jacques  who  was  the 
victor. 

He  was  no  match  for  the  chevalier  in  sword  play,  and 
a  well  directed  blow  made  an  ugly  gash  on  his  wrist,  and 
sent  his  weapon  flying  out  of  his  hand. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  a  noise  was  heard  just 
outside  of  the  door  leading  to  the  river,  and  Picard's 
well-known  voice  was  heard,  saying : 

"  Open— open  in  the  king's  name  I " 

That  cry,  so  appalling  to  criminals,  seemed  to  strike 
terror  to  the  heart  of  Jacques  and  his  mother. 

Pierre  ran  to  the  door  and  was  unbarring  it  when 
La  Frochard  sprung  at  him  with  a  howl  of  rage. 

She  grasped  him  by  the  throat,  and  weak  and  ex- 
hausted as  he  was  by  the  loss  of  blood,  she  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  throwing  him  against  the  stairs,  where  she  held 
him  firmly. 

"  Then  in  the  king's  name  I  will  open  it  for  you," 
again  cried  Picard,  and  immediately  sounds  were  heard 
as  if  some  heavy  object  was  being  used  to  batter  it 
down. 

Two  blows  were  sufficient  to  shatter  the  worm-eaten 
timbers,  and  a  file  of  soldiers  entered,  with  Picard  at 
their  head. 

The  old  woman  cowered  in  the  further  corner  of  <fhe 
room,  and  Jacques  shrunk  back  as  far  as  possible  from 
the  intruders. 

"Ah,  in  aster,"  exclaimed  Picard,  somewhat  surprised 
to  find  Do  Vaudrey  there  before  him.  "  You  found  your 
way  along  the  passage  before  me,  and 
too." 


THE  TWO   ORPHANS.  181 

"  Yes,  and  in  good  time,  Picard.  Here,  some  of  you 
guards  bind  this  ruffian." 

Jacques  was  soon  bound,  and  not  till  then  did  De 
Vaudrey  approach  Henriette,  and  folding  her  iu  a  loving 
embrace,  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  that  conveyed  the  world 
of  love  he  felt  for  her: 

*'  Henriette,  my  love,  my  own." 

"  A  second  time  I  owe  my  life  to  you,"  said  Henriette, 
in  a  voice  choking  with  emotion. 

"  No,  not  to  me,"  replied  De  Vaudrey,  unwilling  to 
receive  any  praise  for  what  he  had  done.  "Thank 
Picard,  there,  whose  selfish  bravery  left  me  to  defend 
the  end  of  the  passage  where  there  were  no  foes,  while 
he  stormed  the  front  of  the  castle.  Your  cries  for  help 
guided  me  to  the  rescue." 

"  Louise,  my  darling  sister,"  said  Henriette,  taking  her 
by  the  hand  and  leading  her  forward,  "  thank  your  pre- 
server !  " 

The  blind  girl's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  clasping  her 
hands,  and  turning  her  sightless  orbs  toward  where  De 
Vaudrey  stood,  she  said,  in  a  trembling  voice,  which  car- 
ried greater  meaning  with  it  than  words  could : 

"  Ah,  monsieur,  you  do  not  know  from  what  a  fright- 
ful fate  you  have  saved  us." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  all  eyes  were 
turned  toward  the  orphans,  and  Mother  Frochard  was 
unnoticed. 

^This   was  her  opportunity,  and  she  resolved  to  em- 
brace  it. 

I    She  had  no  wish  to  taste  the  reward  which  justice  had 
in  store  for  her,  and  she  resolved  to  escape. 

Stealing  cautiously  past  the  soldiers,  she  had  reached 
the  door  in  safety. 

In  another  moment  she  would  have  been  free;  but 
there  was  one  in  the  room  who  had  counted  on  taking 


182  THE  TWO   ORPHANS* 

this  same  Mother  Frochard  under  his  care,  and  that  one 
was  Picard. 

Although  his  attention  had  been  diverted  from  her 
for  a  moment,  his  eyes  sought  the  place  where  she  was 
last  standing,  and  to  his  surprise,  she  was  not  there. 

A  rapid  glance  around  the  room,  showed  the  old 
woman  in  the  act  of  opening  the  door,  and  in  an  instant 
Picard's  hand  was  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  don't,  old  lady ! "  he  examined,  as  he 
obliged  her  to  come  back.  "  You  must  not  run  away 
from  your  dutiful  son  because  he  is  in  a  little  trouble. 
He'll  need  your  motherly  care  now,  more  than  ever." 

Seeing  that  escape  was  impossible,  and  punishment 
for  her  many  sins  near  at  hand,  the  old  hag  broke  down 
most  pitiably,  and  in  a  most  sorrowful  voice,  whined : 

"  I'm  a  poor  old  woman.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  their  evil  ways." 

But  the  appeal  was  lost  on  all  save  poor  Pierre,  who 
stood  bending  over  his  wheel  in  an  attitude  of  deep  grief. 
As  his  mother  spoke,  he  held  out  his  hands  to  her 
as  though  he  would  bear  her  troubles  as  he  had  borne 
his  own,  uncomplainingly. 

"  Picard,"  said  the  chevalier,  "  take  charge  of  this 
worthy  couple,  mother  and  son.  My  uncle,  the  count, 
will  see  to  their  punishment.  Off  with  them  !  " 

Authority  was  sweet  to  Picard,  and  he  made  the  most 
of  it.  Turning  to  the  guards,  he  said,  in  the  most  pomp- 
ous tone : 

"  Take  that  male,  and  likewise  that  female  villain,  to 
the  prision  of  La  Roquette,  there  to  await  the  justice  of 
our  lord,  the  king." 

The  guards  closed  around  the  prisoners,  and  were 
about  to  march  them  off,  when  the  old  woman,  with  a 
whine  that  was  more  natural  than  her  habitual  one,  and 
with  the  tears  rolling  down  her  villainous  face,  said: 


THE   TWO   ORPHANS.  188 

"  Please,  good  gentlemen,  I  am  only  a  poor  old  wo- 
man!" 

She  had  forgotten  the  many  prayers  for  mercy  that 
had  been  made  to  her  by  the  poor  blind  girl,  and  which 
she  had  answered  only  with  blows.  As  she  had  sowed, 
so  must  she  reap  ;  but  in  the  time  of  her  sorrow  she  had 
forgotten  the  harvest  that  she  must  surely  gather,  and  she 
who  had  shown  no  mercy  when  she  would  ruiii  body 
and  soul,  now  prayed  for  mercy. 

To  Jacques'  brutal  nature  such  signs  of  weakness 
were  disgusting,  and  ill  befitting  a  Frochard. 

He  turned  upon  her  with  a  savage  look. 

"  Stop  your  whining  !  "  he  said,  coarsely.  "  Kemem- 
ber  that  you  are  a  Frochard  1  n 

The  appeal  seemed  to  find  a  response  in  the  old  wo- 
man's heart.  Perhaps  she  remembered  that  when  her 
husband  was  led  to  the  scaffold,  not  a  word  of  fear  es- 
caped him ;  but  he  met  his  doom  with  curses  upon  his 
lips,  until  they  were  hushed  by  death. 

"Without  another  word,  La  Frochard  turned  to  go, 
and  as  she  passed  Pierre  he  held  out  his  hands  implor- 
ingly, and  in  the  most  piteous  voice,  said : 

"  Jacques,  mother,  one  word  before  you  go." 

His  mother  did  not  notice  his  appeal.  Her  motherly 
instincts  were  long  since  dried  up  in  her  bosom,  and  she 
did  not  deign  to  bestow  one  glance  upon  him. 

But  Jacques  favored  him  with  a  savage  look,  and  ex- 
claimed, gruffly : 

"  Not  one  word  I  Go  to  your  fine  friends,  and  remem- 
ber that  you  sent  your  brother  to  the  scaffold  ! " 

As  though  these  words  did  not  convey  enough  of  the 
hate  that  was  raging  in  bis  bosom,  Jacques  sprung  to- 
ward his  brother  and  bent  him  like  a  reed  over  the 
wheel. 

In  another  instant  the  poor  cripple  would  have  receiv- 


184  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

ed  his  death,  as  he  had  his  distorted  limbs,  at  the  handi 
of  his  brother ;  but  Picard,  ever  watchful,  interrupted 
him,  and  like  a  wild  beast  baffled  of  his  prey,  Jacques 
was  led,  cursing,  awaj. 

With  a  hymn  of  praise  in  her  heart  did  Louise  leave 
the  house  that  had  been  the  scene  of  so  much  suffering 
to  her,  and  fervent  was  the  silent  prayer  that  Henriette  ut- 
tered, as,  with  her  arm  around  her  sister,  and  hand 
clasped  in  that  of  the  chevalier,  she  went'  from  that  noi- 
some  place  to  reap  the  reward  of  all  her  sufferings. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

CONCLUSION. 

PICARD  dressed  the  cripple's  wounds,  and  conducted 
him,  with  the  rest  of  the  party,  to  De  Vaudrey's  house, 
where  it  was  their  intention  to  form  some  plan  of  action  ; 
for  they  believed  that  should  the  count  learn  that  Hen- 
riette was  still  in  Paris,  he  would  attempt  to  separate 
her  from  the  chevalier. 

But  a  great  change  had  taken  place  in  the  minister's 
feelings,  and  they  were  soon  to  learn  it. 

Hardly  had  they  entered,  when  a  servant  brought  a 
letter  for  the  chevalier,  and  from  the  seal  he  knew  that 
it  was  from  his  uncle. 

He  opened  it,  and  read  aloud  the  following  words : 

"  I  understand  now  why  you  and  Picard  asked  for  a  guard.  You 
will  come  directly  to  me  as  soon  as  you  have  finished  your  work,  and 
bring  with  you  those  you  have  rescued. 

"  LINIKKKS,  Minister  of  Police." 

De  Vaudrey  hardty  knew  how  to  interpret  the  tenor 
of  the  letter.  Was  it  written  ir  a  friendly  spirit,  or  waa 
his  uncle  still  incensed  against  him  ? 


THE  TWO  ORPHANS.  186 

It  could  hardly  be  the  latter  case,  and  he  resolved  to 
obey  the  letter  fully. 

In  a  few  moments  the  party  were  at  the  hotel  of  the 
minister  of  police,  and  leaving  the  two  orphans  and 
Pierre  with  the  valet  in  one  of  the  drawing-rooms,  the 
chevalier  entered  his  uncle's  presence. 

The  count  and  countess  were  together,  and  the  affec- 
tionate welcome  which  he  received  from  both  showed 
him  how  idle  were  his  fears  that  his  uncle  had  not  re- 
lented. 

"  Have  you  succeeded  ?  "  asked  the  countess,  in  a 
voice  which  betrayed  all  the  agitation  she  felt. 

"  I  have." 

"  Thank  God !  "  replied  his  aunt,  fervently. 

De  Vaudrey  gave  her  a  warning  glance,  which  was 
observed  by  the  count. 

"  Within  the  past  hour,"  he  said,  gravely,  as  he  pressed 
the  chevalier's  hand,  "  I  have  learned  the  truth.  The 
countess  has  confessed  the  secret  which  has  clouded  our 
mnrried  life." 

De  Vaudrey  clasped  the  hands  of  both,  and  was  about 
to  speak,  when  the  count  interrupted  him. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  chevalier,  for  all  I  have  made 
you  suffer.  I  have  done  all  in  my  power  to  repair  the 
wrong  I  have  done  you,  and  within  an  hour  Henriette 
GHrard  will  be  here." 

De  Vaudrey  looked  at  his  uncle  in  surprise.  He  could 
not  tell  the  meaning  of  his  words ;  but  at  last  a  light 
broke  over  him. 

Under  the  belief  that  Marianne  was  Henriette,  the 
count  had  sent  for  her,  and  the  chevalier  now  saw  an  op- 
portunity of  rewarding  her  for  the  noble  sacrifice  she 
had  made  in  behalf  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

"My  child!"  exclaimed  the  countess,  "have  yen 
brought  my  child  I " 


186  THE  TWO   ORPHANS. 

ij  I  have,  and.  she  will  be  here  immediately." 

And  as  he  spoke  De  Vaudrey  left  the  room,  and  re* 
turned,  leading  Louise  by  the  hand. 

Over  the  meeting  between  the  mother  and  the  child 
from  whom  she  had  been  separated  so  long,  we  will  draw 
a  veil. 

Such  scenes  are  too  sacred  for  the  writer  to  profane  by 
trying  to  describe  them  through  the  cold  medium  of 
letters. 

While  it  was  taking  place  the  chevalier  explained  to 
his  uncle  the  sacrifice  which  Marianne  had  made,  and  in 
a  few  moments  all  were  assembled  together. 

As  soon  as  the  first  burst  of  joy  was  over,  Louise 
turned  to  the  chevalier,  and  said,  in  a  voice  that,  to 
Pierre's  hungry  soul,  sounded  like  music  from  the 
spheres : 

"  Monsieur,  we  are  all  so  happy,  yet  we  must  not  for- 
get poor  Pierre.  Noble,  brave  Pierre !  Pierre,  Pierre — 
where  is  he?" 

"  I  remained,  mademoiselle,"  said  Pierre,  coming  for- 
ward, while  tears  bedewed  his  cheek,  and  his  voice  be- 
came painfully  husky  and  tremulous,  "  to  ask  the  privi- 
lege of  saying  farewell.  Your  good  heart  will  not  for- 
get the  poor  cripple?  " 

"  Never — never,  Pierre  1 "  replied  Louise,  fervently, 
as  she  pressed  his  hard,  labor-stained  hands  between  her 
thin,  wasted  ones. 

"  A  mother  thanks  you  with  more  than  words,"  said 
the  countess,  in  an  earnest  tone. 

"  Let  his  reward  be  my  care,"  quickly  added  the 
chevalier,  and  then  turning  to  Picard,  he  said:  "  I  look 
to  you  to  see  that  Pierre  wants  for  nothing  until  I  shall 
have  time  to  provide  for  him  to-morrow." 

We  will  leave  the  party  to  their  happiness,  and  close 


TWO   ORPHANS.  187 

our  story  by  briefly  relating  a  lew  incidents  which  took 
place  immediately  afterward. 

Louise  was  at  once  placed  under  the  care  of  the  good 
doctor  who  would  have  cured  her  even  when  she  was 
only  a  charity  patient,  had  he  not  been  prevented  by 
Mother  Frochard,  and  he  gave  her  mother  every  reason 
to  hope  for  her  recovery. 

At  last  the  day  came  when  the  operation  was  to  be 
performed  which  should  show  whether  she  was  to  have 
the  use  of  her  eyes  or  not,  and  the  blind  girl  bore  the 
pain,  as  she  had  borne  her  sufferings  in  the  home  of  the 
Froehards,  bravely. 

A  few  weeks  passed  swiftly  away,  thanks  to  a  kind 
mother's  and  Henriette's  care,  in  a  darkened  room,  and 
when  she  emerged  her  sight  was  completely  restored. 

Marianne,  trembling  for  fear  that  her  deception  wns 
discovered,  and  that  Henriette  was  to  be  made  to  suffer 
in  her  stead,  was  brought  back  by  the  guards,  and  her 
fears  were  changed  to  joy  when  she  learned  the  joy- 
ful tidings  of  Louise's  restoration  to  her  mother,  and 
Henriette's  happiness. 

De  Vaudrey  settled  a  comfortable  income  upon  her, 
but  she  insisted  on  serving  Henriette  as  maid  until 
such  time  as  she  went  to  gladden  the  home  of  a 
worthy  man. 

Pierre — good,  honest  Pierre  had  hia  reward  here  or 
earth,  as  we  know  he  had  it  hereafter. 

The  Count  de  Linieres  insisted  on  being  allowed  to 
provide  for  him,  and  now  the  happy  cripple  received 
an  education  such  as  few  could  boast  of  in  those  days, 
and  rose  to  be  one  of  the  most  noted  advocates  in 
Paris. 

For  his  sake  the  sentence  of  death  against  his  mother 
and  Jacques  was  changed  to  exile,  and  we  will  hope 
that  in  a  new  country  they  changed  their  manner  of 


188  THE  TWO  ORPHANS. 

living,  and  endeavored  to  atone  for  the  many  sins  thej 
had  committed. 

Picard  never  again  occupied  the  position  of  valet  to 
Chevalier  de  Vaudrey. 

The  chevalier  pleaded  so  earnestly  with  his  uncle 
-or  him,  that  within  a  month  after  the  closing  scenes 
at  the  boat-house,  he  received  his  commission  as  cap- 
tain of  the  guards,  and  although  he  never  rose  any 
higher,  he  passed  his  life  very  happily,  especially  after 
he  conceived  a  violent  passion  for  the  repentant  Marl 
anne,  and  married  her. 

Of  Henriette  and  the  chevalier  we  can  say  very  little 
that  the  reader  has  not  already  imagined.  In  answer  to 
De  Vaudrey's  prayer  that  she  would  become  his  wife. 
she  answered: 

"  To  be  near  Louise,  my  sister,  and  to  be  your  wife, 
seems  too  great  a  joy  1 " 

Our  story  is  finished,  and  as  we  write  the  closing  lines 
a  great  hope  comes  up  in  our  heart,  that  in  presenting 
this  tale  in  this  form,  we  may  have  induced  some  reader 
not  to  pass  by  any  one  deserving  of  charity  ;  but  to  give 
a  kind  word  and  a  pleasant  smile  to  those  whose  lives 
are  dreary  and  miserable,  even  if  they  can  not  give 
money.  Eemember  that  he  who  possessed  one  talent 
was  held  as  responsible  as  he  who  had  a  hundred,  and 
a  kind  word  has  saved  many  a  soul  from  the  mir 
despondency. 


THE  END. 


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